Murdoch in the JungleT
by Romantic Nerd
Summary: In 1904 Detective Murdoch and George Crabtree investigate a murder involving the abusive world of the meat-packing industry. Posing as hobos, they encounter Upton Sinclair researching his novel, "The Jungle." Sinclair helps them with their investigation and to learn how to survive in this dark, depressing and soul-torturing world of the early twentieth century jungle. M version.
1. Chapter 1

Murdoch in the Jungle: Prologue

It is December, 1904. William and Julia are married and Julia is pregnant with the child who will be their son. Detective Murdoch has been investigating the murder of a woman, following leads that have led to the dirty, rough, abusive world of the meat packing industry at the turn of the century. Suspecting that the victim's husband, who had been found dead late in the summer, had been hired to sabotage the competition of Toronto Pork tycoon, William Davies, by removing the ice on refrigerated train cars shipping the competition's butchered meat, the detective and Constable Crabtree go undercover posed as hobos riding the trains in search for work. Along the way they encounter Upton Sinclair, who is conducting research for his subsequent book, "The Jungle." Sinclair is also posing as a hobo and helps the Toronto policeman, not only with their investigation, but also with learning how to survive in this, dark, depressing and soul-torturing world of the early twentieth century jungle. Familiar people they encounter along the way are Alan Clegg, Terrence Meyers and Madame Ettie Weston.

The following is an excerpt from a one of the upcoming chapters.

Although it was not uncommon for William and Julia to fall asleep in each other's arms, they rarely woke up that way. Invariably, one or both of them would waken in the middle of the night and change positions. Thus, William was surprised to wake up and find they were tangled together, Julia's head still on his chest and her pregnant belly and thigh draped over him. Relieved that he had managed to wake up before the sunrise, for he needed to leave early today, he was glad that he would be able to turn off the alarm clock before it rang and woke Julia up as well. He took a deep breath, preparing to find a way to move without waking her, but also because he felt a heavy tug at his heart. He would be doing the one thing that caused her the most stress – going undercover, and all the evidence told him that she was having a particularly hard time dealing with his absence, and his being in potential danger, when they were this near to her due date – now little more than six weeks away.

Deciding there was no guaranteed way to rise without stirring her, he chose to try to slip out from under her, towards his side of the bed. Before he had even moved an inch, merely tightening his muscles to begin his departure, he felt her arm and her leg clamp tighter around him. A complaining groan broke the silence in the darkness. Clearly, she did not want to let him go.

Compassion flooded his heart, rendering the tenderness in his voice as he said, "Julia, I have to go," the words resonating deeply inside both of them, vibrating destiny's tuning fork, reminiscent of the words' portence so many years before, when their utterance had been accompanied by his tear-filled eyes, the last time their eyes touched before she left him for Buffalo. Her response to their utterance now was to hold on to him with even more force. Yes, this was going to be very difficult indeed. Rather than fight against it, he yielded, rolling even closer to her and wrapping her securely in his arms. His next deep breath guided her familiar scent deeply down into him, registering somehow in his soul. It was inescapable – he loved her more than life itself, and she him. And yet, he knew he would do it. He knew that she knew as well. He would go.

He rolled even further over, pushing her onto her side, opening a path behind him to ultimately move away, while moving closer to her. He pushed further, rolling her onto her back, and found himself becoming aroused as she lie so weak and soft underneath him. Instincts took over as warmth filled his chest, and his groin.

His demanding breathing rattled against her ear, as the morning stubble on his cheek scratched tantalizingly across her jaw and her cheek, and his fingers found her face, grasped it, locking it in place, before his lips took hers passionately. Her moan lured him towards his lustful horizons, deepening his kiss. Ultimately, he would taste all of her, touch all of her, bask in each moan … in each cry, swim in each distinctive odor, his senses seemingly heightened by the peril he faced, by the unconscious awareness that it may be the last time. Then she would return the favor, driving him over the edge of ecstasy as well.

Afterwards, they lie together, fulfilled, waiting for their bliss and reality to merge. The alarm would sound soon, the pre-dawn light now kissing the room, so he told her again, that he needed to go.

Wanting to feel his heart beating against her a while longer, knowing she would miss his smell, and his voice, and the feeling of his breath on her, she asked, urged, "Not until the alarm … at least not till then." Only a few moments later, the bell tolled and he reached over to quiet its dreaded proclamation. His deep breath announced the immanence of it, his leaving. With a gentle kiss to her hair, breathing her deeply in one final time, he rose, dressed and left, without a word, without a promise to be careful, knowing such words would not suffice to comfort her, knowing she had accepted the pain and the worry as inevitable and unavoidable.

He quietly closed their front door against the bitter cold and ripping wind. Hearing the crunching of his own footsteps in the newly fallen inch of snow, he reached up to nurture the ache in his shoulder. Now heading back into danger on the same case, the memory of the pain, both physical and emotional, from when he hung on the meat hook between two pig carcasses, driving him to coach himself to be alert. He waited on the sidewalk at the end of their path. " _Don't look back_ ," he told himself, hoping to avoid the worry, and the guilt. He envisioned how beautiful their new home, wrapped in Christmas decorations, would look softly cloaked in the clean, white snow. Instead, he peered down the street, " _Concentrate on the task at hand,_ " his own voice advised as he looked for the horse and carriage, squinting into the low morning sun.

The cab pulled up. He greeted George as he stepped in, taking a seat next to the constable. "You look wonderful sir," George declared, "Very convincing."

Julia dropped the curtain back down to rest over the window, now quite a while after his cab had pulled out of sight. She looked to the bed in their guest bedroom, the one in which her sister had recently stayed, in the room she had rushed to, hoping to get a final glimpse of William before he left her, possibly forever. " _My God, I miss Ruby too,_ " she thought. The emptiness, the loneliness, felt markedly worse than she had expected. She reminded herself that Isaac would be coming over to check on her later. She would be grateful for the distraction. Subconsciously her hand covered her belly as she reminded herself that she was not alone. "What shall we do till Isaac gets here, hmm, little one?" she asked out loud. " _Breakfast,_ " was the answer that came. Happily, she found herself excited about the idea, "Some bacon and French toast, I think."

"Do you think so George?" the detective asked. "It was a challenge finding these old, tattered clothes, particularly the coat – I purchased it from the charity box at my church. I actually had to tear them apart and soil them in the boiler room to get the look," he added.

"As did I sir! But I didn't think of the boiler room… I actually used the back area by the garbage cans," the constable explained.

"That explains the rather realistic and pungent odor," the detective declared with a smile, "Actually, it helps complete the whole _**hobo**_ ensemble, George."


	2. Chapter 2: Strike While the Iron is Hot

Murdoch in the Jungle_Chapter 1_Strike While the Iron is Hot: July 1904

 _Note to reader: Much of this story will be related to Upton Sinclair's novel, "The Jungle." I will use names he uses, but take liberties with their stories as he had written them to better fit my own story. It has been reported that Sinclair based one of his characters in his novel on J. Ogden Armour, a Chicago Meatpacking Magnate, but he had changed the names. I will be using his real name, but I am basing Armour's part of my story on_ _ **fictional**_ _ideas from Sinclair's meatpacking bosses and my own imaginations. Facts consist of there being a man named "Jonathan Ogden Armour" who ran a high-powered meat-packing establishment in Chicago in 1904, and his mother's maiden name was "Malvina Ogden."_

 **July, 1904**

 **The Windsor House Hotel**

Julia sat brushing her hair at her vanity in their bedroom in the Windsor House Hotel. She heard William in the other room talking with Albert who had just brought up their breakfast. She dropped her eyes down to her left forearm, focusing her attention on the swollen, red, insect bite that had once again started to scream at her with its itching. Failing in convincing herself to ignore it, she suddenly scraped the irritating welt with the teeth of her brush. Her mind flashed an image of recently "playing" with William, her dressed in her spicy, red, leather outfit, him tied to the chair at his birthday-present desk in what would eventually be his workroom in their new home. The look on his face as she "interrogated" him about his interest in some revealing pictures of young women still brought a big smile to her face. " _Yes_ ," she congratulated herself, " _He thoroughly enjoyed his birthday present_." Unfortunately, they had each gotten quite a few insect bites during the delightful "sex play," as much of the house still lacked proper walls, doors or windows.

" _Some plants repel insects,"_ she thought, " _Perhaps extracts from such plants could be placed on a person's skin… certainly their clothing, without serious harm… And the extracts would keep the insects away. No bites!_ " She figured she could use the citronella plant. The Club, the one where her family has a membership, had citronella plants on its porch. She planned to make a stop at the Club during her lunch break to collect some leaves.

Over breakfast, the couple discussed their upcoming trip to the beach. "Will you be packing your black woolen stockings along with your bathing suit milady?" William asked, teasingly.

Julia raised an eyebrow at him, "Trying to avoid scandal, husband?" she asked.

William smiled and put his fork down. He stood from his chair and stepped behind her to lean down and whisper in her ear, "Now that depends on whether you are talking to the little devil on my left shoulder or the little angel on my right one."

Julia melted backward into him, turning her head to bring his lips into contact with her ear, and said, her voice breathless and somewhat dreamy, "Oh, I do so enjoy the little devil."

Her invitation irresistible, William fondled her ear with his lips. His breath flooded over her as he said, "The angel told me to warn you not to encourage the devil," and then his lips torturously kissed and nibbled and sucked down her neck while his hands slid around her from behind, evoking a slow spin in her brain.

"William Murdoch," she teased, turning to him and then standing, reveling in the feeling of his hands capturing her waist while she toured the route up his jacket collars to wrap her arms around his neck. Her lips tickled and tingled his ear, and her fingers tangled into his hair as she said, "Tell your angel he knows me better than that." She pulled back ever so slightly to tilt her head and entice him further, placing her lips within range. So delightful, the feelings of her swimming dizziness and twisting insides… His hands so strong, firm, moving up her back, imprisoning her as his lips grew closer… Then the touch, heavenly, making her promise him by opening to him, wanting his taste, and her moan pulled him in.

Their kiss deepened, and their hot breaths mingled around them. William slid his fingers into her chignon, his fingers locking and holding her head tight, and he pushed further and further into her, starting a mesmerizing rhythm, known to each of them down deep in their bones. She was glad he held her so tightly, for she dropped, her knees weakening.

William so loved to affect her this way, but being an expert at tormenting her, now was when he would step back, abandon her when she had completely yielded. His mouth pulled away – hers leaning, chasing. Her eyes opened to meet his. " _My God, she is beautiful_ ," his heart, his groin remarked.

Reality dawning, she thought, " _Breakfast … Work_ ," and then said, "My hair!" with a little panic.

William chuckled at her and took a free curl in his fingers. "It looks beautiful," he calmed. "You've never looked lovelier," he added with a bow, reminding them both of their wedding dance. She knew it once again; she couldn't possibly love him more.

They returned to eating. Julia finished her breakfast, and then mischievously stole a piece of William's bacon. His shocked look made her giggle and she explained, "I'm famished…Don't forget husband, I'm eating for two."

William's angel advised that he acquiesce. He handed her his last piece of bacon as well. Their eyes met, each relishing a smile. His eyes said it all. She took the offer; she really was very hungry.

As they walked out the door of their hotel, discussing their contentment with their decision to continue her pregnancy rather than abort the child, sharing their marveling at the opportunities science had given them, William stated, "Yes, it is best to strike while the iron is hot."

Julia was now three months pregnant, having reached a point when most women would have been comfortable accepting the fact that they would become a mother – but Julia's situation was much more precarious than that of most women. She replied, "Agreed … but let's hold off on telling anyone about it for a little while longer…" She paused and looked for his response…

William wrinkled up the corner of his mouth. He so wanted to relax and let himself jump for joy, and tell the world about their miracle … but he had to admit she was right – not yet. "Good," he said, giving her a quick kiss. They went their separate ways, her to get a cab, him to retrieve his bicycle. They both headed for work with a smile.

In the morgue, Julia crushed the citronella leaves with water and made a small bottle of liquid, which could be sprayed on their skin and bathing suits using an aspirator nozzle. She took a moment to thank Dr. DeVilbiss for inventing the clever method of dispersing the liquid. She would bring the _insect repellant_ along on their trip to the beach this weekend.

 **Back of the Yards, Chicago: Union meeting before strike**

The meatpackers, many of them dressed in clothing soaked in dried blood, met in a pub. One of the men stood up. "Jurgis had a good point! We want to stop them from "speeding up!" he decreed. A large man, Jurgis, groaned as he stood, drawing attention to his battered and disabled state. Speaking in Lithuanian, an older man, Jokubas stood next to him and translated, "It's killing us all. Their methods are cruel and devious, hiring and paying a very few select men well, requiring of them only a few hours of work rather than the usual 12 hours. These men are fresh… They do the more difficult jobs that tend to be the ones that set the speed on the line. That speeds up the whole line, so for a man working a full shift, there is never a moment to catch your breath, to correct a mistake. This must be one of our requirements – no more "speeding up" the lines." His speech was met with cheers, as men turned to each other citing examples of men who sped up the lines, performing the most stressful jobs while being paid more and working less hours, and everyone knew someone who had broken down or been injured as a result of the rapid running of the line.

Often the jobs that were given to men to speed up the lines were in the killing beds – as was the case with Jurgis before his injury. Now he worked sweeping up the very final remnants of the meatpacking process which were dried and used as fertilizer, explaining the white-chalky dust all over his clothing and his putrid smell – an odor worse than that of death itself that flooded into the nostrils of all those present. He knew about speeding up the line first hand, having swept the blood and guts that hit the floor into traps as pigs were hung up to the ceiling live and screaming, then had their throats slit, their bodies sliced open, and their guts cut out and dropped to the floor.

The man running the meeting stood and thanked Jurgis, acknowledging his agreement with him. He concluded, "That along with the higher wages, then."

 **Boarding House: The Junction, Toronto – near the William Davies Stockyards and Meatpacking Plant**

Adomas sat in the dimly lit room in his boarding house, his six roommates snoring and sleeping on the floor, writing a letter to his wife Ieva. She had remained in Winnipeg with their three-year old son, Matis. He tucked money into the envelope with his note. He would send it tomorrow.

 **J. Ogden Armour Townhouse, Prairie Avenue, Chicago: July 12th**

The three powerful men, Jonathan Ogden Armour, Nelson Brown and Gustavus Durham, sat alone in the study, occasionally being served brandy, discussing ways to deal with the Amalgamated Meat Cutters and Butcher Workmen's (AMC) strike. Armour flicked the ashes off of the end of his cigar as he explained, "They are poor, and they are immigrants – most unable to utter more than ten words in English, but they are _**white**_ men… They won't even consider including Negroes in their union…"

Durham asked, "But do you truly think that we can get thousands of Negro men to show up, cross the picket lines, and then actually do the jobs?"

"I do," Armour replied. Brown nodded. "I have already had my man start printing out hiring notices to distribute in Negro neighborhoods. You should do the same…"

"And get our copper friends to spread the word as well," Brown added.

"And those soft-skinned managers are going to have to fill in wherever the Negroes can't…" Durham said. The other two men concurred, nodding.

"We need lists – the men who take part in this strike must be blacklisted – there need to be consequences for their insolence," Armour stated, now extinguishing his cigar.

"Agreed!" Durham declared. Brown nodded as well. "We can't let them get the upper hand, we must stay in production, and they must feel significant pain for their defiant behavior," Durham stated as he stood to take his leave.

Armour and Brown stood and joined him at the door.

"Fortunately, there is plenty of ice, and the railroads are still happy to keep the refrigerated cars running. They won't expect _**us**_ to work together… Needless to say, the union surely won't be able to keep all those different ethnic types together. That's an advantage for us," Brown concluded.

 **Hanlan's Point Beach**

William and Julia had quickly headed for the tree-line along the beach, knowing they wanted to set up their blanket in the shade if possible. It was a very hot day, and the beach was already crowded. They found a spot that was currently not in shade, but by William's calculations, the Sun would move to the west and their blanket would be in the shade within the hour. Deciding it would be best to swim while they were forced to remain in the blazing sunlight until their world rotated into more pleasant coolness, they each changed into their bathing suits.

Julia reminded herself, before she opened the door to reveal her more-exposed body to her husband, as well as the rest of the world, that she was barely showing at this stage. No one would be able to tell that she was pregnant. As she stood at the top of the stairs of the little hut, she watched William's eyes. They dropped immediately down to her belly. "What do you think?" she asked.

Truth be told, he wanted nothing more than to have her in his arms at that moment. He offered her his hand and she stepped down to him.

"William?" she asked again, now feeling self-conscious. She leaned her lips to his ear, intending to ask him if it was apparent that she was pregnant, but his lips found her ear first.

He kissed the tender skin, and then said, as he pulled her body closer, "You are stunning – and that's with the stockings on." They each giggled. He knew his wife; those stockings would be off soon. He had already come up with a plan – he would drag her as quickly as possible into the water, whether her stockings were still on or she had taken them off. He would keep her there, waist deep or higher, for as long as possible… Then, he would make sure they were directly lined up with their blanket before they left the water so they were out in the open on the beach for as little time as possible. Once out, he only hoped they could cross the beach quickly, and that as few people as possible would notice his wife's scandalous behavior. Unfortunately, he now had to take his turn changing into his bathing suit, leaving her free to …

William sighed, admitting to himself that he really had no control over this situation. "I'll be quick," he said as he hurried up the stairs and into the hut.

Julia already knew that her husband would look wonderful in his bathing suit. He had stayed in shape, mostly with his bicycling, but he also insisted on finding time to exercise, lifting weights, making for such lovely muscles. While she waited, she viewed the area. It was crowded. There were plenty of women around to notice her handsome husband. She noted that there were already a few men eyeing her as well. One of them did not even look away when she noticed his peering.

She so wanted to remove her stockings, both to make a statement about the lack of logic of women's swimming fashion, and because they were so very uncomfortable and hot… And they turned into stinky, soggy, drenched clumps of wool once one got out of the water. She decided not to do so, as the peering man might take the gesture as a signal that she was trying to entice him.

She imagined William opening the door to see, not only that she had removed her stockings, but also that as a result, she was being propositioned by a strange man. Her rebellious side laughed as she imagined William's face – reminding her of when she had dressed as a man along with the other women on the basketball team. So quickly the next image flooded through her – of William punching the man. And her mind traveled in parallel flickers, one to remember that he had punched Darcy – and the huge fight between them his doing so had triggered – and then she heard Emily's voice, " _It is highly romantic_ …" while at the same time she remembered the way William pummeled the man from the Black Hand. Yes, she would definitely keep the stockings on for now.

Hearing the doorknob turn, Julia's mind flashed to a memory of when William had dressed in only his "dream tie" and then stumbled to slam the bedroom door before not only Julia, but her friend, Ellie, spotted him in his very sexy _outfit_. My God she loved him so. The door opened and he stepped out, as expected, looking gorgeous. She noticed his eyes checking to see if she still wore her stockings and she teased, "Well, my little devil is quite intrigued by the look of you in your bathing suit, husband. Is yours disappointed to see your wife's stockings are still on?"

He laughed as he came down the steps, "It's hard to hear him over the little angel, who honestly is quite ecstatic," he answered.

"I do like to keep you on your toes," she replied, taking his arm.

Nearing the water, William asked, "So, Mrs. Murdoch, do you prefer the bathing suit or the knickerbockers?"

"Oh my, that is a tough choice… I guess the bathing suit; it reveals a bit more. Of course, my favorite ensemble of yours would have to be the _dream tie_ – for the same reason," she answered with a giggle, picking up the pace, feeling the pull of the sea that she loved so much.

Toes in the water, which was remarkably cold, Julia insisted that the only way to deal with the frigid shock to the skin – even to the bones it seemed, was to dive in. She did so, running forward and then diving head first, leaving William to fight with himself about following suit or not.

When she surfaced, quite far away, she turned and wiped her escaped curls out of her face. "William," she called with a chuckle, "Just do it!"

Making himself lean forward, eliminating his choice, William took the plunge. When he surfaced, his wife was nowhere to be found. He knew she was very adept in the water, having saved his life in the sinking boat. He suspected she … He felt it – something against his leg!

" _Oh, she is looking for trouble_ ," he thought, reaching down to grab her as she mermaided by.

Julia put up a struggle, but not much of one, for every cell in her body wanted to be caught by him. She found herself in his arms, and then her lips in a kiss. She rode the waves of pleasure that kissing William Murdoch brought. Too quickly he broke off the kiss. "William," she said mischievously with an eyebrow lifted at him, "There are people everywhere. You are being very scandalous."

Before he could answer, she kissed him – a hungry, passionate kiss that got their heads spinning and their insides burning. Julia moved, swayed, and then pumped up into him with such an evocative rhythm. " _Remember where you are_ ," he advised himself, feeling his self-control drifting away and his groin mounting. She lifted her legs up, wrapped them around his hips. He couldn't help himself, releasing a slow moan that drowned and muffled so heavenly in her mouth. He wanted her. Oh, and she wanted him. Her pelvis rocked, hidden under the water, massaging him, tempting him, drawing him to her. He softly stopped their kiss. He needed to slow this down. They were in public. "Julia," he said, his tone bordering on pleading.

She whispered in his ear – their secret, "Take me deeper." Instantly she felt air surge out of him, hot, demanding air.

"You are tempting the devil again, milady," his voice, now dry and rugged, sucked her womb into a knot.

"Yes. I am, aren't I?" she giggled.

Only about four steps – four steps until the only parts of them that felt the air and the sun was their heads. With Julia still wrapped around him, his hands traveled lower, his fingers taking a hold of her, hidden underwater, round, plump, cheeks. He had grown aroused. And as he slid his hands down her backside to widen her, pulling her thighs further apart, she felt him, he felt her, through the suits.

"Oh my God, William, I want you … So much," she whispered through a moan.

"Mmm," he responded, kissing her.

But his angel won. He could not, would not, let this go any further. Not here. He let go of her, stepped back, gave her legs a gentle push, tilting them towards the sand below his feet. "Back at the hotel, hmm?" he said, out of breath.

Now standing, on her toes, she replied, "So many years ago, you whispered to me that you wished we were skinny-dipping… Perhaps we can come back tonight…"

She saw his smile, more importantly, she saw his beautiful eyes dance and sparkle. "Intriguing," he said.

Later, on their blanket in the shade, Julia lie on her stomach, relaxing and enjoying the peaceful sounds, smells, and an occasional breeze. William, however, was restless, switching positions constantly, even sighing. She smiled to herself. " _He's so productive_ ," she thought. " _But he has trouble shutting it off, hmm?_ " she asked herself.

"William," she said, "Just relax." Julia rolled over onto her side to face him and reached up to tenderly grasp his shoulder. She pulled him, guided him, down, to lie on his back beside her. "Close your eyes," she instructed. He did. "Take a deep breath… Smell the sea…" He did. Her fingers slipped into his hair, so delicious. "Feel the warmth on your face…" Then fingers gliding over his cheek, her thumb stroking his lips. He took a calmer, deeper breath. A soft wind flowed over them. "Feel the kiss of the breeze William," she said. He felt her breath ripple across his ear, sinking into him. "Listen, listen to the waves touch the sand," she said as her hand cupped behind his other ear, her thumb slid along his jaw, then her fingers slipped onto his neck. "Everything is as it should be… You don't have to do anything. Just be, just be here with me, breathing, feeling," she said, then laid her head down on his chest.

Julia took a deep breath. She was happy, almost euphoric, but serenely, serenely euphoric.

He heard her speak to him, her voice, her breath, caressing his chest as she did. "Doesn't this feel heavenly … The last time I remember such a sensation was when we experimented with opium, remember detective?"

William found it a struggle just to answer her, he was so cozy, "Mmm," he managed to reply.

"It invoked a similar sensation," she added. Her hand slid up the curve of his chest, and she gave him the softest pinch of his nipple through his bathing suit, before she pressed into the muscle more firmly, soaking in the luscious feel of his flesh that she knew so well. "You said you wouldn't want to use opium again – that you didn't want to alter your reality…"

He breathed in, taking to heart the warmth and the scent of the salty, humid air, and the gift of having her with him. "Mmm, I did," he answered.

"You said nothing could make your reality any better than it already was. Do you still feel that way? Are you still content … Are you happy William?" she asked.

His arms embraced her, his body staying soft, making it so easy for her to melt into him. "I cherish you Julia. I cherish every moment with you. God, life, destiny…" he said, shaking his head, "Brought me a singular, remarkable woman… And I have loved her completely, with everything I have. I have loved her through and through, thoroughly," he answered, holding her. Then he rolled her over onto her back and propped himself up on an elbow to look her in the eye – in her magnetic blue eyes, and he said, as his hand covered her womb, "I guess there was _**one thing**_ that could make my reality even better after all." He took a deep breath and then kissed her.

(They were still madly in love with each other – and they had the miracle of a baby on the way. Their hardest struggle was to trust that such happiness was safe, that the other shoe wouldn't drop. Of course, they knew life had its ups and downs, but if only they could ride those ups and downs together – as a family, nothing could be better, nothing. But, it took such courage to allow themselves to hope).

The moonlight was bright when they returned. They had not bothered to bring their bathing suits; that was never part of the plan. However, they did have a blanket, and some towels, and a picnic basket. Julia had placed a few surprises in the basket, in case her husband lost his nerve. William scanned the area, feeling relieved to find that there was no one in sight. Thankfully, they seemed to be alone. He was having doubts, but every time he pictured the sight of Julia, naked in the luminous moonlight, the delectable curves of her and her soft skin, her supple flesh jiggling as she moved, he felt a jolt to the groin, and his heart would start to race, motivating him to swallow back the concern.

She waited for him, watching him worry, while he searched the area for anyone who might _catch_ them in the act. When their eyes met, he quickly ducked his chin, dropping his eyes away. " _Why did I ever think she wouldn't know?_ " he thought. A mosquito buzzed near her ear, prompting her to slap her neck in the hopes of stopping its feeding on her. She remembered the insect repellant and prepared to show off her invention to her husband, but…

"Perhaps this is not such a good idea, Julia," William said. "We will get eaten alive," he argued.

She leaned close to him and said, "Not a good excuse I'm afraid. I made a potion of sorts, William – to repel the insects."

Her husband raised an eyebrow at her, prompting her to giggle. " _He won't get out of this as easily as he thinks,_ " she thought. Feigning anger, she stepped back, placed her hands on her hips and scolded, "So, you think the only one who can come up with inventions is the _great_ Detective Murdoch?"

Now it was his turn to lean in closer. "Not at all," he said, "I am well aware that my wife is quite brilliant, and she has a vast knowledge of chemistry, and biology. It does not surprise me at all that Dr. Julia Ogden would be able to create a concoction that deters insects." He stepped away and exhaled, giving his anxiety away by reaching up and rubbing his forehead. "How does it work?" he asked.

Julia walked a few steps closer to where the waves lapped at the shore and tossed the blanket into a broad sail that drifted to the ground. " _Delaying tactics_ ," she thought to herself. She sat on the blanket and began to take off her shoes. Refusing to look up at him, she moved on to her stockings. " _Come on William,_ " she thought. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see that he had not moved.

"It seems that there are some plants that secrete chemicals that protect it from various insects…" she said, intentionally lifting her leg in the air, pointing her toes in such a way as to enhance the sumptuous curve of her calf in the moonlight as she flirtatiously slid the stocking down. _Oh, she knew she had caught him_. He was beyond still, breathless. " _Did he just swallow_?" she thought with a wicked smile creeping onto her face. She moved on to the other stocking. "Of course, many plants also _attract_ insects, like bees and such, so it is important…" Once again a long, glowing leg pierced the air, slowly revealing more and more of her rounded, delicious flesh as she removed the stocking and continued, "… to choose the right plant."

Still not looking at him, her brain pleaded inside of her head, " _Please. Please. Give in to the little devil, William._ " She pulled out the bottle of citronella and sprayed it on her legs. Her voice teased him some more, "In the interest of science, I thought you would at least come and see if it works."

Somewhat recovered, "All in the name of science," he responded. That particular utterance, and the picnic basket, riled a memory of their first picnic, and how incredibly aroused they had each become that first time. He approached.

"Would you care to join me in a drink, detective?" she asked, pulling a bottle of absinthe out of the basket. "We are on vacation, you know," she enticed.

William perused the area one more time before he sat next to her. She sprayed his shirt with the insect repellant, despite knowing it would likely come off soon. William took off his shoes and socks while Julia prepared their drinks.

After a few sips from his drink, he moved closer to her and unbuttoned the top of her blouse. "It seems to work quite well, doctor," he said with a nod.

Julia reached up and undid more of her buttons for him. She watched his eyes, and thanked the moonlight, for she could see them grow hungry. She felt her inside twisting tight. "The insect repellant or the absinthe?" she asked, devilishly.

His head had started to swim with lustful stirrings, slowing his ability to respond. He took another sip of the absinthe, his eyes still on her bosom, lured by the deep cleavage and malleable, milky-white orbs along its edge.

Julia took another sip and then placed her glass down on the basket. She took his from him, nestled it next to hers. She reached over to the buttons on his shirt, managed to undo a few before he pushed into her, pushed her down onto her back, to lie on top of her and …

He kissed her, passionately, wildly, urgently. She felt his hand reach down, and slowly, inch by inch, he lifted her skirt, then his hand on the inside of her thigh. She moaned. He responded with racing breaths. He was so excited, she was so excited; she wasn't sure they would make it to the water. He was pulling at her bloomers. She pushed against his chest.

"Not so fast," she whispered, or more purred, then returned to kissing him. She pushed him away again, "We were going to go skinny-dipping," then pulled his lips back to hers. Once again, she pushed him away, "Remember?" she asked, straining to hold back.

Images swam through his mind – his beautiful wife, her creamy skin in the pale, ominous light of the moon. It was a sight he had never seen. "Yes," he said, seemingly hurried. William rose up on his knees and explored their environs, checking for privacy. His eyes returned to hers, nearly stunning her with their intensity – his expression bordering on anger. His fingers found his remaining shirt buttons while his eyes stayed locked to hers.

Her insides wound and coiled, wrenching with lust. She felt her heart rush, her breathing surge. " _Oh my God,_ " she thought as the world around them dropped and spun, offering oblivion. With each button, he revealed more and more of his chest. _Oh, how she wanted to touch it, stroke it, ride the waves of it – and, the lure of it, the thought of feeling his chest against her swollen bosom_ … She was driven, compelled, to join him in the stripping.

Memory would fail to provide who undid which piece of clothing, for the hunger, the rapidity, the darkening, swirling intoxication of the mind, combined with the swelling urgency, the wild demand from deeper and lower, stole all attention.

They stood before each other, as Adam and Eve, in awe of their match, their harmony, their fit. It was beyond beauty, even destiny – it felt like pure perfection. Maintaining the tortuous teasing, denying actual touch of their skin to skin, Julia took his hand. Playfully running for the cover of the water, she led him. William leaned back, wanting to see, to memorize, her graceful, mesmerizing jiggling, stumbling with the challenge of crossing the uneven, cool sand while so entranced by … her.

Oddly, he thought for the briefest second, the water seemed warmer than earlier, so inviting, like a cocoon or haven. They did not dive this time, gradually being swallowed by the salty, shimmering sea. With gentle waves licking at their shoulders, they stopped and steadied themselves against the shifting currents that ran and flowed around them, through them. William turned her, face to face, struggling with conflicting urges – to grab, to seduce. He grit his teeth, forcing control. It would be slow… It would be smooth. His hands, the tips of fingers first, then increasing pressure, growing on her, large and encompassing, his hands slid along her hips, across the indent of her waist, up the rippling ribs of her back. He heard it, felt it – air rushed out of her as she weakened, her throat betraying with the tiniest squeak.

Helpless, her arms dangled at her sides, her knees buckling, she floated, waiting for the pull she knew would come, she prayed would come. A gasp escaped her; gravity shifted. How could she fall backwards and fly forward at the same time? _Heaven_ , as she felt his body, his skin caress, shape, warm hers. "William," her lips moved, calling his name, just before they were smothered and devoured by his kiss. _Oh my God – his kiss_. A tunnel, a carousel, a kaleidoscope, deeper and deeper he moved into her. She wanted him so badly that tears formed in her eyes. She slipped her arms around his neck, tilted her head, opened even more to him.

 _Something against her thigh_ , accompanied by a tingle of a memory – Her own voice, " _Something is touching me!_ " Followed by his lovely chuckle, and then he had said, his tone playful and doubting, " _Julia._ " In a corner of her mind, she giggled, finding it funny that William Murdoch would ever tease _HER,_ of all people, about not knowing about male arousal.

 _Oh, but he was aroused now – very, very aroused_. Feeling him strong, powerful against her flipped her. She could tolerate her needs no more. She had to have him. She had to have him, deeply. Pushing, and moving, and pounding into her. Her slippery, slim thighs glided up the outsides of his legs. She tilted her pelvis back, moaned with their perfect alignment, feeling the spark, the widening, the slide of him ruptured her. Her legs seized him, her arms held tight, and she pulled herself around him…

William nearly collapsed with the pleasure of it. He moaned, so devastatingly it called to her like lightning calls to thunder. "Please William," she cried, "Please." She could barely taste her tears mingling with the salt of the sea.

He thrust, making love to her, unsteadying their balance, straining his strength to keep them upright. Rewarded by her moan, he continued urgently. " _Delicious, absolutely delicious,_ " the thought twirled in his head. Again he pounded, and again. She took hold of his neck with her rigid teeth surrounding her hot, silky tongue… _My God_ , he lost control, powering, making love to her with all his might.

Sand between his toes as he worked to steady them, William knew he needed to take her, but more completely than he could here, better aided by the forces of friction and gravity. His heart ripped and thundered in his chest. He fought to gain control against the swirling, pounding, strangling in the center of his head. He turned against the cyclone of it, mustered the power needed in his legs. He carried her, quickly, out of the water, focusing on his footsteps through the whirlwind of her kisses and nibbles and love-bites.

She heard his desperate breathing, felt the cool air of the night embrace her back, then her legs, as they sailed up the beach. She held him tightly, ensuring they stayed connected. With a thump, she felt her feet touch the ground as he dropped to his knees. She sat straddling him, seated high on his thighs, still intimately linked, their wet, naked bodies sliding past each other as they kissed. His hand cupped her head, protecting it from the fall. First upward, and then flying down with a pound, her shoulders reached the blanket, under it the ripples of the cool sand. Then the weight, the heavenly crush of his body on top of hers, into hers, stealing her breath, swirling her brain, wrung her womb into a taught knot of ravenous want.

He made love to her – all of the way through her – undid her, his effortful grunt seeming to surge into her from above, squishing her to implosion. "William," she pleaded, feeling explosion imminent. _Oh my God_ , he filled her, rocked her deeply to her core, reaching their one, perfect spot, over and over again.

 _Oh_ , she fell, from an abysmal height, the highness of it breathtaking, dizzying. The warmth starting at her deepest nucleus, magnificently flowing outward, luscious, luscious pleasure besieging her every atom. Yet still, she needed him closer. She sucked him in with all her might, this wonderful, wonderful man. He was hers, she was his. She lost herself, erupted into the stars with William's eruption and his delightful, raptured _**moan**_ somehow completing the circuit, blending them together, they soaked up each last, long, deep, arduous scrumptious ripple, only to marvel in the savory spinning of the world after they collapsed, melted and limp together, with exhaustion.

Oh, how their hearts pounded together, symphonious and promising. Nowhere else – there was nowhere else but here, so drowned in blissful love. William's powerful breaths rattled into her ear, steamed over her neck, labored as a bull after a battle. Total fatigue entwined with joy inside of her, forcing her into gentle sobs. She knew he would soothe her, her longing for his scooping, treasuring, reassuring touch seeped out of her every pore.

William found his heart expand even more with her weeping, for he knew such defenseless collapse was the result of being loved, and loving back, so entirely that it seemed to devastate the soul. Pressing his hands into the blanket, it giving way, bending with the force as the sand took on his weight, he lifted his body, lightening her load, yet, his breath, his kiss, grew nearer. She was not alone – she would never, never be alone. His words echoed and plummeted into her, blanketing her, solidifying their union, "I love you, Julia," he said, just above a whisper.

He turned onto his back, cuddling her tight, bringing her with him. Protectively, he cupped her head, her beautiful golden-red curls still wet and puffed into a messy knot. His lips tenderly kissed her locks, "I love you so very, very much," he said. It felt like healing, being in his arms, in his strong, compassionate care.

In just a few moments her tears had passed. Their breaths, their heartbeats had returned to their usual cadence. Feeling the world settle back in around them, she became aware of her fingertips gliding back-and-forth over the long scar on his right forearm. She took a deep breath, letting the memory, along with its pain, sink in. He was not with her then – had fled to the arms of another, Mrs. Jones, in the wake of learning of her abortion – when the ladder had broken and fallen out from under him. " _He could have died… So many times he could have died,_ " her thoughts reminded. It was always part of her tears, wasn't it? – losing him, as though it somehow seemed inevitable, unavoidable, foretold. A chill ran through her. Instinctively her hand covered their baby inside of her.

Concerned, he asked, "You don't think we hurt the baby?"

"No. No, William. Isaac said we would be fine until the fifth month," she assured, calming him. Julia shifted, resting her elbow into the blanket and placing her chin in her hand. The moonbeams kissed his skin so beautifully. He truly was gorgeous. She took a deep breath, reveling in being with him. Her fingers found the wound just below his heart, where an arrow had punctured him so many years before.

He knew now, that she was reviewing her inescapable worry about him dying, about surviving without him. He knew the fear deeply, for he felt it too, frightened to ever have to go on without her, yet also terrified of abandoning her. The angst had only grown stronger with her becoming pregnant. He brought his fingers to her jaw, turned her to reach for her eyes, melting her with his customary wrinkle at the corner of his mouth. She sighed, admitting to him that he was right. Her hand grazed his cheek with a thank you before she lay her head back down on his chest.

She couldn't help but picture it though; just under her ear there was another scar, this one from a bullet. She thanked the medicine woman of the tribe who had healed him then, when he was so far away from her. She thanked Eagle Flight for being the type of man to save him, firing on William's assailant, then bringing him into his home, risking being arrested, jeopardizing betraying his own people.

And, although the scar now seemed tiny, the deltoid muscle of his shoulder also just under her now, it too reminded of his potential demise – this one from when he dove into the shallow river from the train bridge, after Gillies. His protective urges demanding he chase their nemesis to the ends of the earth to guarantee their safety in this world.

She sighed again, remembering another mark, also from a bullet, on his right deltoid muscle. This one carried with it a sting, an intense burning of panic, for when he had incurred that bullet she had feared him already dead. He had been gone for so very long. At that time reality had twisted into the impossible, had stolen his memory, had carried him to Bristol, where he had encountered one other that _may have been_ his love. And yet, she knew she was grateful to Anna Fulford, for she too had saved his life.

Her fingers moved, centering on a scar across his ribs, underneath it the bones had been injured, dented away slightly from her fingers.

William's voice, kind and supportive, joined her thoughts, "That one was from before I knew you – from when I was a lumberjack." The weight of her head on his chest lessened; she was listening. His arms wrapped more firmly around her and he explained, "I guess such injuries are to be expected, falling out of a tree. I was working in the type of tree that brings with it peril, for its wood is brittle, and it tends to crack and break underneath you. They sent me up, young, gullible…" She knew he lifted an eyebrow evaluating and scolding himself, "…cocky," he continued. "A branch broke away under my feet – no warning – just "crack" and then the fall. As I had been trained to do, I remembered there was another branch a bit lower. I knew it would catch me. My chest hit it… It would be a bruise. The wind had been knocked out of me. Not so bad, but … it didn't hold. Out from under me it snapped and I slid over the piercing point of the stub left extending out from the trunk. The distance down to the next branch – a bigger, thicker, stronger branch – was quite far. They say when I hit it they heard a gasp of air escape my lungs. From there I don't remember, but I eventually ended up on the ground after bouncing from branch to branch the twenty or so more feet until I hit the bottom."

Avoiding her awareness that he could have died even before she met him too, Julia asked, "How about from when you worked as a ranch hand?"

He felt her nestle in against him, enjoying his stories. "Oh, there were plenty of falls, kicks, even a few bites, but none that really stuck with me," he answered.

Such talk, of William's rugged and rough past, stirred a twitch of infatuation in side of her. She giggled, drunk with the feeling of having a little crush on her husband. She lifted her head, her eyes big and playful, "William!?" she said, "Shall we explore more than the beach, and the water…"

She loved it, his look of confusion mixed with being enchanted with her.

"The trees William! Let's climb a tree…" she pitched herself up on her elbow again and whispered in his ear, "Naked as jaybirds," she teased and taunted.

Before he could offer even a hint of an answer, she had swooped away, her hurried feet sprinkling his skin with a peppering of sand. Excitement, thrill, pumped through him. As he took up chase, he marveled at the beauty, even sexy grace, of her body as she ran in the moonlight. _Oh – he so wanted to catch her_ …

 **Back of the Yards, Chicago: Tenement home of Jurgis**

Jurgis returned home to the house for which they had spent every cent of their savings from Lithuania, every blood-earned penny of their wages, to keep, despite the fact that they had been tricked by the bank into paying rent and interest rather than the mortgage they had been told of. He had expected his wife Ona to be home from her job by now. He put his sign for the picket line down against the wall – he would go back again tomorrow. His anger at the Negro men walking on past their line of strikers, being protected by the cops and by Brown's goons, tingled furiously under his skin. No money in his pockets and no food in their pantry, he was useless – a failure – unable to care for his family, and now Ona was pregnant again.

He wondered why his boy, Antanas, had not found him to say hello. Ona's father told him the boy was next door. Jurgis found their toddler son playing on the neighbor, Aniele's, floor. For a moment he thought to ask her if she had fed the boy, but shame stifled his tongue. Like all of the families in Packingtown, their men were on strike as well.

When Ona finally arrived, she had three chickens and a bushel of carrots. The seven household members, a now tightknit group from Lithuania, would eat for days, stretching the treasures into soup. Jurgis felt such shame that it was his wife who provided for them, for him. He was only willing to eat because she forced him, claiming Antanas and the new baby, just beginning in her womb, would need a father, so he had to eat. "The strike won't last forever," she had encouraged.

He held back on one of his worst fears, keeping it from her, for it disgusted him. Some of the men were planning to raid and attack the Negro neighborhoods to warn back the men who had stepped up and taken their jobs, enabling Brown, and Durham, and Armour to stay in production. The actions of these Negroes weakened the strike. Perhaps it was necessary – to take action to stop these Negroes – to force the bosses to treat their loyal workers, men like Jurgis himself, with an ounce, even an iota, of respect and decency, to treat them as men rather than animals. Jurgis' blood boiled.

In bed, he awakened to hear Ona crying. She would not tell him what was wrong. He suspected that it had to do with how she had managed to get the money to buy the chickens. When he asked her she cried even harder. He became furious, his shame and inadequacy flanked by his suspicion that she had done something unthinkable… the thought inflaming jealousy. " _How could she?"_ he screamed in his head. He decided he would go to the canning factory where she worked tomorrow and ask around. He never liked that manager there – Connor, eyeing all the women, except for the snooty woman in charge… That woman had always had it in for Ona. She probably set the whole thing up – probably made some money from the whole thing too. Just like everybody else in this hell of a place, full of greed, out to get a little higher up above anybody else.

He couldn't sleep. He had to get out of there, so he went out for a walk. In the cooler night air, he marveled at the fact that even at that hour, the lights glared from the buildings, and the trains ran, taking out the meat from the day in their refrigerated cars to the world. The strike had accomplished nothing – the endless march from animal to meat continued, unstoppable and disgusting, using-up everything it touched on its way.

 **Davis Slaughterhouse: Stockyards, Toronto east end**

Adomas checked the back alley once more, finding it secure. Before he went back into the stench of the slaughterhouse, he paused. The alleyway didn't smell good, but the air was fresher than inside. He noticed the light was on up in Mr. Davies' office. " _Odd_ ," he thought. " _The boss doesn't usually stay this late._ " Adomas was the night-watchman, so he knew much about the comings and goings here. He took a deep breath, deciding he had a moment. The trains delivering the fresh load of pigs wouldn't arrive for another hour or so. From his pocket he pulled out a picture of Ieva. _My God, he missed her_. He had to get more money, simply had to.

He overheard the boss getting loud with the manager. Quickly, he tucked the photo back in his pocket and hurried inside.

Mulligan, the manager, worked to appease, "I'm sure Chicago won't be able to keep it go 'in. They got Negroes do 'in the work now."

Well-dressed and red-faced, whether it was from drink or from anger, Mr. Davies ranted at his manager, _**"We need to strike while the iron is hot!"**_

For years Davies had been trying to find a way to stop the infiltration of meatpacking. He had built the biggest hog-slaughtering facility in all of Canada, here in the east end of Toronto. Trains delivered the live hogs, he slaughtered and butchered them and then sold the meat right there in Toronto. Sure, there was some preserving, with salt and by canning, curing meat to be shipped overseas, but the invention of the refrigerated train car had upended his whole operation. Now, not only the big bosses in Chicago, but his Canadian competitor from Winnipeg, the cattleman Burns, too, was able to slaughter the livestock right where they were and then butcher and pack the meat, keep it chilled and ship it out from right there where they had slaughtered the beasts. There was no longer much use for slaughterhouses like his near the metropolises. They were putting him out of business.

"Chicago meatpacking production needs to fail!" Davies bellowed, slamming his hand down on the desk, "There will be no better time." Davies marched up to Mulligan, wiggled his finger in the man's face and said, "You need to get this done. That meat better not make it to market, at least not as edible meat, you hear me Mulligan! I don't care how, but you get it done, now."

Mulligan left Davies' office, chewing on his fingernails nervously. He needed this job. He had come too far, sacrificed too much to lose it all now. He spotted Adomas down by the hog hoist. "Baltavesky!" he hollered, "Get over here…"

 **J. Ogden Armour Townhouse, Prairie Avenue, Chicago: July 20th**

The three meatpacking magnates sat in the study discussing the meatpacker's strike. Brown was telling a terrible story. As all three owners had done, he had filled as many of the line jobs with Negroes as possible, and then he had his managers take on whatever jobs were unfilled. "I have to tell you, the managers are more useless than the Negroes," Brown said, "I am going to have to fire one of them when this is all said and done. The darn idiot went and let a man get killed on the floor… Something about a loose steer. Hopefully nobody will notice a missing Negro." He sighed and added, "We got rid of the body in the usual way. Disgusting, but for the best – no trace of the man now…"

Armour finished his thought, "Just went down the line. He won't be the last man to have that fate."

Durham leaned in closer and asked, "Did any others see?"

"Manager claims not, but the next day there were two other workers didn't show up. My copper, Bodkin, tells me they were found dead, just on the outskirts of their own Negro neighborhood," Brown explained.

"Guess your man did what he had to do… Maybe it's best not to fire him?" Armour suggested.

"Perhaps," Brown considered. "We have been keeping production up," he changed the subject, "Been shipping out about 75% of what we usually pack."

The other two men nodded. Armour agreed, "It has been going pretty well, considering everything. There seems to be plenty of ice for the reefers (refrigerated cars). The trains have been running on the same schedule, just the cars aren't quite as full is all."

Durham said, "The strikers have got to be feeling the pain by now. They have been getting pretty fired up at the Negroes … Could get violent."

Armour concluded, "As long as our coppers keep it in check it shouldn't be a problem." The other men agreed. "We just need to keep it up longer than the strikers can handle starving. We will win in the end," he said confidently. He escorted his visitors to the door of the study and called for the butler to bring them their hats and umbrellas – it was raining and the men would have to walk the ten feet or so to their carriages that waited for them outside.

 **Stationhouse #4, Toronto; End of July**

William sat at his desk reading the Toronto Gazette. His back was to the door, the paper opened wide in front of him. She could see most of the headline from the doorway. It was intriguing, but still, she so treasured the moments when she could study him, love him, watch him, and he did not know she was doing so. Even just the back of him – noticing his dark hair, and his shoulders, the way they pressed against his jacket, hinting at the hunky muscles tucked under the fabric. Pangs of excitement pumped through her as she smiled to herself, remembering, checking, at the rim of his collar for the mark she had made biting him, tasting him, while they had made love at the beach. Now barely visible, the mark lingered, mostly tucked out of view from those in his buttoned-up world. Having let the warmth bubble in her insides sufficiently to satisfy, she stepped into his office, " _5 Dead, Many More Sickened by Bad Meat?"_ she read over his shoulder.

He turned, rewarding her with his happy face, wide eyed, truly bushy-tailed with joy to see her. "Julia!" he called, his beautiful smile making her glad to be alive. Spreading the paper out on his desk, she walked to his side, allowing herself the pleasure of slipping her fingers into the hair at the back of his neck as she focused her eyes on the print.

"Where?" she asked. She so wished he would slide his arm around her and tug her closer – he would have if they were at home…

He answered, "One in Toronto, three in New York and one in Buffalo. Both the United States and the Canadian governments are investigating."

Concern, worry, sadness grew inside of her. "I'll have to call Ruby," she said, sounding a little dazed. Her mind followed a track, one that gurgled a bit with guilt that connected to her wealthy status, and her family, and triggered some childhood memories.

"Mmm," he nodded, and continued, "The spoiled meat was from Chicago… Seems it was sold chilled but had gone bad – they say most likely during shipment." William went on to tell her about the brilliant inventions and innovations used to make refrigerated train cars, how the designer, Edwin Earl, had used the knowledge of density to bring cold down from ice stored at the top of the car to the pre-frozen meat stored at the bottom. William's professorial lecture included the economics of the ordeal, explaining that the railroads wouldn't buy the patent, so one of the meatpacking owners, Armour he believed, had purchased Earl's refrigerated train cars and then leased them to railroads, making double the money in the end. The system depended on re-icing stations every 250 miles or so. It was all calculated out so the meat would remain sufficiently chilled before it arrived at the distributors… William paused, wondering if she was listening.

"I see," she responded.

He smiled to himself – though she would have caught it if she were paying attention – he knew she was not. "Julia," he said drawing her out of her thoughts, "My point is that even if something went wrong, and the re-icing stations did not keep the meat cold enough for it to stay safe, then it is unlikely that the meat would have been cold enough when it was delivered…" He checked her eyes, received a nod; she seemed to have caught up. "So they must have put thawed, warm meat into the ice houses at the distributors… What I'm trying to say is I'm surprised the governments have found Armour, and the other two…"

"Brown and Durham," Julia filled in.

"Yes," he smiled, impressed, but not totally surprised, by his wife's savvy knowledge of the American meatpacking industry, adding, "Although the Canadian government had to also consider Davies from here in Toronto, and Burns from Winnipeg and Western Canada too. Meyers would probably have been called in for that."

Julia considered telling him then, about her relatives in Chicago. But their disagreements about taking on servants, William's struggles with feeling comfortable about moving up into her world of the upper-class and the wealthy, still threatened, and further, stirred discord, anxiety, and a troubled feeling in her gut. She decided he need not know, but she was all too familiar with her cousin, knew him all too well. And she certainly didn't trust him. No, the man she knew, the one she had played with as a young girl, such a man would knowingly sell bad meat, she was sure of it.

William finished, "It would seem to me that it would have to be the distributors at fault, certainly as much so as the owners."

Julia's worries shifted closer. "Perhaps we should be concerned – take heed… about the meat we buy," she suggested. Motherly instincts shot to her womb, prompting her to protectively cloak their baby with her hand. "How can we be sure William, that the meat we buy is safe?"

Her husband lifted an eyebrow. His brain was working on the problem, now aware of it. "We could be sure to buy _only_ meat that was slaughtered here in Toronto," he proposed.

"Yes," she agreed, "I'll call Eloise."

Julia changed the subject, her face taking on that playful, teasing expression that fluttered his heart. "Now, Miss James tells me you had quite the adventure while I was away at my conference. It seems that, once again, you faced death, this time at the hands of a whirling rotary saw in Riley's Sawmill," she asked, raising her eyebrow at him.

The corner of William's mouth rose into a wrinkle and she knew he was admitting to the claim being the truth. Just under his surface, hoping he was pulling off not giving away his inner thoughts, William wondered if somehow she had also learned about his being selected while working undercover as a laborer to do, "odd jobs and handyman work," for Mrs. Candace Riley. Feeling his face grow hot with embarrassment, he hid it as best as possible, dropping his eyes back down to the newspaper on his desk. "Julia," he said, "It is my job."

She leaned down, placing her mouth close to his ear and said, "I know William. It's alright." Her quick kiss was meant to seal the issue, at least for now. With that, she told him she had something to show the detective in the morgue. William grabbed his hat, and they headed out together.

 **Back of the Yards, Chicago: Bar**

Jurgis sat with two other men at a table drinking a beer. He had some money left, despite the strike, and even after paying their part of the room, a single room to house seven people. " _Could it get any worse?"_ he wondered. They had all been evicted, forced out into the street, their belongings strewn all over the sidewalk, for not being able to pay their _rent_. Of course, it was not only rent. It was "rent" – something they never thought they were signing on to pay at all – AND interest, for eight years of a twenty year mortgage! They had been conned, not speaking English and unable to decipher the "fine print," and now the bank had won, had collected their _rent_ and interest for two years, and now the bank had the same house to resell. Jurgis was amazed at the sheer amount of anger and helplessness that simmered inside of him. It felt as if he had nothing to lose, but of course he did. He had a wife, a son, and a baby on the way. The strike could end soon – they could win, no more "speeding up," higher wages, better working hours, less chances of injury. " _How would they make it till then?"_ he thought. Images of Ona coming home with the chickens and with money infused the circuits of his brain.

With his last swallow of his beer, he decided. Jurgis decided that he would confront the weasel, the bast*rd, who had solicited his Ona, prostituted her, had blackmailed her with _**all**_ of their jobs, had left her no real choice but to allow him to… _Oh my God how his head pounded with fury!_ That bast*rd had had his way with his wife, his Ona, and then he had used her to gain influence over, power over, and money from, other disgusting, repugnant men. Inside him there was such a battle between weeping and punching. He slammed the empty glass down on the table and rushed out into the night.

 **Winnipeg Canada: Ettie Weston's Coffee House**

Ieva pulled out the envelope with Adomas' note and what was left of the money he had sent. Their sickly three-year-old son clung to her leg, occasionally coughing and sniffling. She looked pleadingly at one of the young women with her in the _parlor_. Ieva felt intimidation surge through her. She could never look so … sexy. Perhaps Madame Weston would turn her away, find her lacking in what it would take to entice men. She hugged her boy closer and thought about what waited for them outside the door – nothing. The money she had left from Adomas would not cover the price of their tiny boarding house room _and_ the cost of food, not to mention any kind of care for Matis. She needed to stretch, to find a way to make it until Adomas' next letter came.

Pushing herself past the shame, she asked the young woman, "Do you think you could watch him… once Madam Weston gets here?"

The young woman had a big heart, under her voluptuous bosom and risqué clothing. A smile shown on her face as she nodded. She approached and took a seat on a nearby settee, inviting Matis to sit with her. The boy clutched harder to his mother.

"Be a good boy Matis," Ieva encouraged, "Look how pretty she is." She pushed him softly off of her leg and took his hand. Ieva kneeled down in front of her son, wiped his nose with her very-soiled handkerchief, and guided him to the young woman's side.

"Hello," the beauty said.

Matis' mother patted the seat next to the woman. She was relieved when her boy climbed up. He even looked the other woman in the eye. "Say hello, Matis," Ieva urged. From behind her she heard the madam speak…

"Lalka," Ettie Weston's voice slipped into the room, "How very kind of you." The young woman sitting next to Matis bowed her head. "How may I help you Miss…" the madam asked.

Ieva turned to face her, hoping she would see recognition cross her face. Thank goodness she did. "I do hope you remember me, Miss Weston," she said, offering the madam a soft curtsey.

"Of course dear. Your English has gotten much better," Ettie reassured. "Come, let us talk in here," she said, gesturing to the next room.

"Thank you," Ieva replied. She gave her little son a quick kiss and told him in Lithuanian to be good. Then she quickly followed the madam.

Ettie offered a cup of tea and both women sat at a small table. "I am afraid I don't remember your name," she asked.

"Oh, of course. I am Ieva … Ieva Gagas," Ieva answered.

Ettie recognized her, and remembered her well enough to know that she had a new surname. " _Married_ ," she thought to herself, " _Too bad_." She had suspected, because of the child. But so many women she knew had children but no husband. " _Perhaps the husband has died, or abandoned her?"_ she thought. Ettie was a practical woman, but her heart was kind. She saw no reason to put the poor woman in a position where she would ask for a place in her brothel only to be rejected.

She cleared her throat, drawing the woman's attention. "Ieva, do you have a husband?" she asked.

It shined instantly on Ieva's face – love, and pride. She nodded, "Yes. His name is Adomas. He is in Toronto. He has a good job, but …" The twinkle went out of her eyes, leaving a clear view of her despair and worry.

Ettie felt her heart thump in her chest. But she already knew; she would not be able to help this woman. Women with husbands, husbands who can show up angry and jealous, they spell nothing but trouble. Ieva saw the look in her eyes even before Ettie explained, "Ieva, I am so sorry, but I cannot take a girl who has a husband."

Tears instantly filled Ieva's eyes. _My God_ , she couldn't even make money prostituting herself. What could she possibly do? She had to save her son! Ettie stood and walked over to a desk in the corner of the room. She opened a drawer and she took out some money. Ieva's shame threatened to stop her, but she imagined walking out the door – with Matis. She heard her own voice before she decided what to do, "Oh, thank you Miss Weston. Thank you."

"Take this now," Ettie said handing her the money. She regretted what she would say next, for the life the woman would have to go to was dark, dingy, and offered nothing but survival, or at least a chance at it. "Ieva, there are men, over by the train station… at night. They will find you a way to make some money and offer you some protection. I'm so sorry, but it's the best I can do." Ettie steeled herself and guided Ieva back into the parlor. Embarrassed at her own selfishness, she was glad that no men had arrived before she could usher the poor woman and her son out.

 **Chicago: Gentleman's Club**

The sign outside the posh building read, "Everleigh Gentlemen's Club." Barely-dressed, extremely beautiful women paraded around, serving mostly older, well-dressed men drinks and giving them various attentions. Armour, Brown and Durham sat off at a table away from the rest of the room. Their conversation was intense, and the women knew to stay away. Each man had his drink, and his cigar. Two or three voluptuous women hovered in the distance, out of earshot, waiting for any sign that they should approach.

"Of course it is sabotage," Brown agreed, flicking cigar ashes into the elegant, if not a bit gaudy, ashtray. "There is no other way the meat could have arrived in Toronto, and Buffalo, and New York, already spoiled _**AND**_ still chilled. Someone had to remove the ice, or make sure it didn't get loaded up, somewhere _early_ on the route, so the meat temperature would go back down _after_ the ice was loaded near the end of the line," he added.

Durham reiterated, "Our coppers insist it had to be Canadian. Maybe Burns or Davies?"

All eyes turned to Armour. "We need to make sure it wasn't the Canadian government," he said. Shaking his head he went on, "That would be a big problem."

"Should we call in Clegg?" Durham asked.

"Perhaps," Armour answered. "But there is someone else first…"


	3. Chapter 3The Rat RaceT

Murdoch in the Jungle_The Rat Race

 **End of August 1904**

 **Windsor House Hotel**

Awakened by his wife's quiet moans and soft twitches, William lay next to her in their bed. Blushing morning light slipped into the bedroom, adding to the excessive heat of late August. Sheets had been thrown to the floor in the night, leaving them naked and yet still sweaty. At first, he had propped himself up on an elbow and examined, basked in, his wife's beauty as she dreamed. His fingers had tingled with the desire to touch her, stroke the tender skin of her cheek, her lips, her neck, then travel the sometimes gentle, other times swooping, curves of her body. But he controlled the urge, for he did not wish to wake her, and further, such touching would only add flames to the fire – a fire they had agreed not to ignite. Before he lay back down on his back, focusing his attention on the ceiling fan's perpetual spinning, his eyes had stopped at the reason for his current self-denial, bringing a smile to his lips. Right there, between her hip bones, just below her navel, their baby grew.

It was her first moan that did it – so helpless and weak. Like an electric current it had shot straight to his groin, creating a rise in him. He was learning, almost remembering, from before they had been married, how to control the beast. You have to grab hold of it immediately, before it grows too big to handle. Thus, instantly he forced himself to move away, throwing his head back down on his pillow and coaching himself to think of something else – hence the ceiling fan. " _Density_ ," he thought, " _Hot is less dense and rises, cold is more dense and sinks. Setting the fan direction as such pulls the cooler air upward, starting a convection current, bringing a cool breeze across our bodies ..._ "

Next to him, Julia's body began its customary wiggling, making it nearly impossible for William's body not to join in, for the rhythm of it seemed to originate in his marrow and it called to him like a sweet siren, irresistible, primal, and secret. Another deeper, longer, more agonous moan sang from her lips. Her rhythm quickened.

The image flashed in his brain, of being on top of her – making love to her so urgently, so desperately, it hurt with the need. " _The fan. Look at the fan_ ," he reminded. " _You were working on the problem of how to cool the room,_ " he instructed, taking a deep breath.

"William please," Julia called. She was close now. So soon she would have been pulling him so close, pulling him over the edge into bliss. William planted his arms, his buttocks, firmly into the mattress, denying his impulses. Then, Julia's voice from over a decade ago rang in his ear, " _How does it feel detective to know that you are the only man in the world who can make my dreams come true?"_ He giggled to himself with the glee from the memory, of the two of them spending the night together in his office, while Julia was still married to Darcy and they were straining over the struggle of obtaining her divorce. They had argued, and talked it through all night, eventually falling asleep together in his reclining chair. It was the first time he had witnessed Julia having one of her, as it turns out, quite typical, sexual dreams _**about being with**_ _**him**_!

"Mmm," she pumped her body next to him, turning her face towards him, flooding him with her warm, lush breath. Very soon she would waken, move closer, touch his whole body with hers, take succulent hold of his flesh… she would move and push, slow and intoxicatingly against him, let her nostrils suck in his smell, then taste him with her kiss, with her velvety, wet tongue.

He found himself standing, then walking, into the bathroom. He looked at the toilet, but he was too … aroused. " _Toothbrush_ ," he thought. The feelings, the urges, the yearning, ever so slightly, demanded less. It was a Sunday – he would dress, go to early mass…

"Brunch surely must be my favorite possible meal!" Julia declared, bouncing in her seat. William's eyes sparkled as their eyes met, he so loved to see her happy, excited, jubilant. Both extremely hungry, neither of them having eaten a bite since last night, they dove wholeheartedly into their early afternoon treat. Now abstaining from sexual activity as per Dr. Tash's advice, they found their intellectual connections took center stage. As was not uncommon, they discussed a case.

"William," Julia asked, "Would there be any reason for a _**woman's**_ blood to be in his apartment?" She took a sip of her coffee, her blue eyes held to his as she tilted her cup. He stopped his eating, paused, letting the possibilities run through his mind. She put her cup back down and leaned towards him, "What I mean is, he claims the blood you found was his. But what if we could prove it wasn't?" she explained.

It hit him – the memory of when she had rushed into his workroom to tell him about the article. Julia's heart rushed as her husband tilted closer towards her, "The victim was a woman. Sex-determination method, wasn't it?" he said.

"Yes," she responded, her voice a mixture of yelling and whispering, bringing a sense of awe around them. "The XY sex-determination system. All you need is a cell …" She halted her words there and frowned.

"What is it?" he hurried to ask.

Julia leaned back and lifted her fork. "It may not work," she said sounding defeated. She took a deep breath and looked him.

" _Why?_ " he thought right before she went on.

"Red blood cells lack a nucleus," she said.

"Oh, of course. And it is only in the nucleus where these X and Y microscopic entities are located," he finished her thought. He too went back to his meal.

Julia's medical mind hashed through the problem, not yet ready to concede…

William interrupted her thoughts, "Did you buy the New York Times?" he asked. Ruby had called and told them of her front-page story. His curiosity had been piqued.

Her fork was down once again. "I did," she answered. She retrieved the world renowned paper. Ruby's story was below the fold. It was titled, _The Rat Race and the "Negro Scab."_

"It is about the problems they are having with race relations in Chicago. It seems that the predominantly white immigrant labor force, who are all members of the meatpackers' union … Which you will remember, is striking?" She looked to William to see if he was with her, receiving a nod. "They are angry at the Negroes who are being shipped in from the South – and being protected by the police mind you …" Their eyes met again. "To replace the striking workers on the lines," she continued.

"Does it link the spoiled meat that had killed all those people, does it link that to the strike?" he asked. Finished now, he pushed the plate way, trying to push away his renewed concern about the bacon as well.

She answered, turning the pages of the paper to find where the rest of the story continued, "I'm not sure. I have only read the first part."

Ruby's story went on to explain that in reality a great majority of the workers being shipped in by the wealthy meatpacking owners to do the line work, and thus break the union strike, were actually white. And further, that the mostly white members of the union had violently opposed allowing Negroes into the union, setting up much of the problems between the races that they were facing now. The article also had some sickening descriptions of violence taken against Negroes. Julia read on adding, "It seems the railroad workers sympathize with the strikers and notify them when a trainload of strikebreakers is being shipped into the yards, so the strikers can attack it – throwing rocks and bricks."

William sighed. It sure seemed to be a mess. "Does Ruby explain what a, "Negro Scab," is, from the title?" he asked.

Julia scanned the text looking for the term. She found it near the end. Her eyes rushed back and forth reading the page. She lifted her head and took a deep breath before telling him, "It is a term used by the strikers to describe the Negro strikebreakers. They are thought to be like a scab over the wound the strike has made in the wealthy owners' pockets. Without this "scab," the union would have been more successful."

"Mmm, I see," he said.

Julia found a thought rising to the surface. "As a medical doctor, I have to say, if a wound is quite deep, then a scab just hides the infection… underneath pathogens still fester. Medically speaking, it would be better to keep the wound open," she said. "That is, _**if**_ what you truly want is healing," she added.

She thought to herself about her cousin, Jonathan, a man who currently owned the biggest meatpacking business in Chicago, probably the world. From what she knew of the man, healing would not be his goal. She had decided not to tell William about this particular relative. The decision only solidified her awareness of her being ashamed of the man. Julia sighed. William had grappled so much with his having become a member of the wealthy class since their marriage, knowing about his American cousin, albeit by marriage, would certainly only add to his struggle. William's words replayed in her head, " _It seems the clothes still don't fit the boy._ " It had been such a big argument they had had, leading her to debase his building of their house. " _In the end_ ," she figured, " _it had been for the better._ " Because of that fight, she better understood what it was like for him, having been raised poor and thus incorporating values that focus on self-reliance and so abhorring greed. She grasped much more now the serious changes William had to go through and accept about himself and their future life together.

Julia glanced at her husband as he stood to begin preparing the food-cart to return to the kitchen. She gave him a smile. It only grew bigger when he returned it. As they cleared away the dishes, she imagined Rebecca James and marveled at all the suffering she and her Negro ancestors had had to endure, and still would have to endure in the future, for no other reason than because the color of their skin differed from that of those with more power than them.

A repulsive image flashed through her mind, one that mixed a childhood memory with her now renewed enlightenment to the injustices and hopelessness faced by the less powerful in the world. In the real memory her cousin, Jonathan, had been a boy, but in the flash she saw him as she pictured him to be now, as a wealthy meatpacking magnate. But he was gigantic. And under his drinking glass, he had captured an insect. At first, it was a "daddy long-legs" spider; now that she was well-studied in biology she knew it to be from the genus _Pholcidae_ , but when she looked closer it turned out to be Ms. James' suitor, Nate Desmond. Her ghoulish cousin lifted the glass and picked the man up by an arm, leaving him dangling helplessly in the breeze. Mr. Desmond punched and kicked at the giant franticly with his free limbs. Julia could see that he was yelling, screaming, yet there was no sound, save for the evil laugh of the domineering bully Mr. Jonathan Ogden Armour. Julia shook her head, drawing William's attention, as she imagined Jonathon taking hold of one of the man's legs, and then pulling. He would pull the leg off! And it would twitch around! And then he would pull off another, reveling in the suffering he was causing! Julia remembered the revolting sight of it – when it had been a spider. She refused to see it, could not bear to imagine it, when it was a man…

"Are you alright?" William asked, graciously pulling her back to reality.

Julia wrinkled up a corner of her mouth, admitting she was not. "It is just so unfair… So un-human!" she insisted, her voice taking on that little squeakiness William so loved when her emotions got the best of her.

William walked close to her, took a lock of her hair in his fingers. "Fighting for the oppressed everywhere, hmm, doctor," he said, then giving her a kiss on the cheek. His lips found her ear, "I love that about you," he whispered before his lips kissed and teased down her neck.

"You do detective?" Julia responded, finding his continued kissing and delectable physical closeness stirred her insides in such a delightful way. "We will have to recruit some of our Negro sisters into our movement," her brain reasoned, sending the signal to her mouth. Then it all went to mush and she pulled him close and delved in deeply for a hearty kiss, shaking both of them to the core. They would pull it back, eventually, remembering the baby and Isaac's recommendations, eventually. But for now they swam and melted in the tempting, scrumptious feelings of shared sexual yearning.

 **Back of the Yards, Chicago**

Ducked down behind a garbage bin, heart pounding and out of breath, Jurgis' anger fumed, threatening to rupture his self-control. He had followed his wife to this building, had watched as his Ona was escorted inside by that lecherous Miss Henderson, the very same supervisor that had threatened to fire Ona for being late the day after they had married. As he had stayed low, hidden, he saw a man arrive minutes later. He was sure it was the canning site manager – Connor. Jurgis' fingers twisted and wrung his hat into a mess. His worst fears were coming true – she was mixed up in this whole sordid business! Tears threatened to form and his blood pumped hot, surging a call to violence in his veins. She was prostituting herself, his wife, his Ona, his Antanas' mother. Jurgis curled into a ball, sickened with the thoughts.

The door opened! It was Ona … and Connor! He would stand up … He would rush over … He would beat the man silly! But then, they stepped into a cab. It pulled away so quickly, the snap of the whip punishing Jurgis' ears and his heart like a bullet. He just stood there helpless and furious … and heartbroken. He had to wonder, how long had she been? … He could not bear to even think it. He prayed it was for less than three months, " _Please lord, let the baby at least be mine_ ," he begged.

He decided to go home. Up until now his pride had stopped him from taking help from the union during the strike. But he was marching there now with every intention of getting whatever he needed to convince Ona to stop! The union had made a fund, before the strike, to build up stocks of food for the long siege. He had helped, and now he needed help.

When Jurgis arrived at the pub, most of the strikers were sitting in the back. They were huddled and he knew they were talking union business. He pulled a chair close and listened in.

"The creeps started buildin' em the very first night. They's packed nearly a thousand men in those "scab hatcheries." The bunks are four tiers up!" a young, strong man declared. Jurgis recognized him. He used to work on the killing field with him, before Jurgis had gotten injured.

An older man tapped the table. Shaking his head in disgust he said, "Darn smart, housin' them Negroes right inside the stockyard where we can't get at em comin' or goin' to work."

"You know I's got a copper friend tells me them stinkin' places are full of wickedness. The bosses tell their managers to let those scabs do whatever they want – gamble, even bettin' on boxin' matches to the death. And they even bring em stuff, like women and sinful music," another fellow added.

Jurgis' head spun with the pain of it, the dreadful, nauseating sound of the high-pitched ringing drowning out all sound, and the implosion of the darkness staggering him. " _Could that be what Connor was doing with his Ona!?_ " the thought floored him.

 **Winnipeg, Canada: Thomas Street Brothel**

Ieva Baltavesky laid in the tiny bed, their three year-old son Matis curled up asleep in an open drawer of the dresser. He was so skinny now, so weak, he weighed less than the clothes she would have put in the drawer instead. She had still not been able to afford a doctor. She reached over to a small table at the side of the bed and removed a seedy envelope from under it. Inside, it held much – her wedding ring, Adomas' picture, his letters … but the money was already gone. Tears filled her eyes as she held the picture. They had been so much in love – a rare and special love, such a love that poets wrote of. Adomas would have died if he knew what her life had become. She could not tell him even if she had wished to do so, for his letters never had a return address. She feared he slept on the streets in the Stockyards of Toronto's east end.

Ieva looked to the door. Under it she could see the light in the hallway was still on. " _Jimmy could bring a 'customer,' if I'm lucky,_ " she thought finding the idea was mixed with a skin-crawling rebellion inside of her. She let hope win and she opened Adomas' latest letter. " _ **I have hit on some luck. There is more money on the way – we'll be rolling in it!**_ " he had said. My God she hoped it would be enough to set up somewhere else before he got back so he would never know what she had done. But nothing was as important as getting help for Matis. Ieva put the letter and photo back inside and re-hid the envelope. She fiddled with the wedding ring on her finger – she would need to remove it if she heard Jimmy in the hall. Her son barely made a sound as she lifted him from the drawer and brought him to the bed. "Sleep my angel," she whispered, "Only good dreams."

 **Chicago, Everleigh Gentlemen's Club**

Their table isolated, intentionally, Brown, Armour and Durham shared a fancy meal while carrying on their private discussion about business. Tactfully, the conversation topics would change whenever the waiter or one of the showgirls approached, but for the most part they were left undisturbed.

Durham took a deep breath and then said, "I believe our first order of business must be the sabotage."

"Bodkin tells me one of his beat cops got word that Clegg was asking around. Did you call him in Jonathan?" Brown asked.

Armour hid it well, his anger. He had heard the same thing and personally planned to strangle the little weasel the first chance he got _. (No! He had not called on Mr. Clegg to look into the removal of ice from the trains! His own man had guaranteed him it would be taken care of and as far as he was concerned, Clegg would only get in the way. And yet, he needed to appear to be in control)._ Armour took a sip of wine. After he placed it back down on the table he said, "I thought it best."

Brown added, "I would have thought we would have heard something from our railway guards…"

Armour's tone hinged with threat, "All in good time. I have every faith in my man, gentlemen. This problem will be resolved, and soon. Now," he said, picking up his fork, signaling a change in subject, "Have either of you gentlemen gotten anywhere with getting the banks to honor the checks written to our strikebreakers? It has caused some trouble… as you know quite well, Durham, for you have suffered a similar problem. Having hundreds of strikebreakers walk off the job only encourages the strikers."

"The best solution I have come up with is having my manager take cash out of the bank to use for pay," Durham responded. "I have gotten nowhere with the banks. They sympathize with the strikers it seems," he said, "Probably meant to weaken us." The other men nodded in agreement.

Brown's face took on a wicked smile as he said, "And there are other ways to keep the strikebreakers happy, eh."

Durham leaned in closer. "The quarters I built are a mess, to be honest. All manner of indecent behavior. And my God the stink! I swear it is worse than when the pigs were in there," he whispered.

"One of my doctors said we have Smallpox… The man had no idea how outrageous such a suggestion was," Armour claimed. "You did a good job obtaining blank death certificates though, Brown. Well done. Unfortunately it seems I will be needing more," he added.

"As will I," Durham said.

Brown nodded, "It shall be done. Our mortician friends are keeping up surprisingly well," he concluded. Lifting a glass to the others he said, "To the power of money!"

 **Toronto: Stationhouse #4 (September 5, 1904)**

Detective William Murdoch stood by the front desk of the stationhouse addressing four or five reporters. Normally, his mismatched suit jacket and trousers would have served as an indication that the man was not himself, but not today. His trousers had been ruined as a result of the dog-bite he had incurred while saving Constable Crabtree from said dog and apprehending a suspect.

"We approached the warehouse with the intent of trying to locate a suspect," the detective said, "A warrant was not necessary."

Leaning against a doorjamb in the back, Inspector Brackenreid watched on. He had already addressed the reporters, telling them that Crabtree would be fine. The constable had been taken to the hospital for some stitches on his arms was all. It seems that upon arriving at the warehouse, Murdoch had sent the constable around the back and soon heard the man calling out for help. Murdoch had been quite the hero, drawing the dog off of Crabtree who had been pinned to the ground by the attacking dog. The detective described pulling on the dog's tail and then after the beast took up chase, he had somehow tricked the dog into jumping in after him into a carriage, then going out the other side and rushing back around to close the first door as well, thus trapping the crazed animal inside. The man they had gone to the warehouse to search for had ended up being inside. He had sicked the dog on Crabtree and then had tried to escape, only to be captured by Murdoch as he returned to check on the injured constable. In the end the man had confessed to committing the murder. It really was an amazing story. " _Sure to make the front page_ ," he thought.

He turned to look at the backdoor, hearing it open and then close. Dr. Ogden marched up to him in a fury. " _Uh-oh_ ," the Inspector thought, " _Murdoch's in trouble_."

Her eyes fierce and fiery, she honed in on him. "Where is he, Inspector? I have every intention of clobbering him!" she exclaimed.

Before he had a chance to respond, she had spotted her husband. " _Bloody hell, she's going to scream at him in front of the reporters!_ " the thought raced across his mind. "Doctor wait!" he whispered with a holler, stepping into her line of sight with her target. "Wait for the reporters to go at least," he suggested. Fortunately, the woman saw the sense in that, ceased her forward motion and blew out an exasperated breath.

She stood with the Inspector looking on, tapping her foot and riding the waves of gritting her teeth and fighting her every urge to pummel him and then calming herself down and reminding herself he seemed fine. Ultimately, her husband's fate depended on whether she was on an up or a down when the reporters concluded they had enough for their stories.

Within a few minutes the men closed up their notebooks and said their thanks. The Inspector had decided not to get in the middle of it, but still he felt his body twitch with the urge to help out his best man. He cleared his throat, drawing Murdoch's attention. He saw Murdoch turn, the man's face immediately registering with concern.

"William Henry Murdoch," Dr. Ogden's raised voice pierced the air, drawing all eyes.

"Julia!" her husband said. Startle subsided as he slumped his shoulders and then dropped his eyes away from hers for a moment. "I guess you heard," he sighed.

Her arms flung through the air and her curls dashed about her face. "Heard that you singlehandedly took on an _**attack**_ dog!? Risking your life! Yes! I heard!" she yelled, her voice squeaking at first, then growing stronger.

It's funny how the mind works. William found himself remembering the two of them standing in nearly the exact same places, a mere ten years earlier, when he had returned from Bristol – a hero then too, credited with saving the Queen. She had been so pleased to see him, ran across the bullpen to him, dove into his arms…

He regretted it the moment he said it, "You seem upset."

"Oh boy," the Inspector said out loud.

Everyone in the stationhouse watched on as Julia tried to regain her composure. Her eyes dug fiercely into his. Her breathing was rapid. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides. The pause seemed long, and silent…

"Upset! You think I'm upset!?" she squeaked. "Truly amazing detective skills William," she went on sarcastically. She turned towards his office, swinging her arms wildly at her sides as she stomped away.

"Julia… It was George…" he rushed to explain, following behind her. "How is saving him different from saving the Queen?" he asked. "I would think you would be proud of what I did," he argued.

She turned around to face him so quickly that he just about crashed into her. They stood halted in his office doorway face-to-face. She spoke through gritted teeth, low but audible to all those who stood around holding their breath, "We weren't _married then_. You weren't my _**husband then!**_ And I wasn't _**PREGNANT then!**_

The whole stationhouse gasped!

She turned again and they went into his office. The detective closed the door, and before he pulled the blinds closed, everyone could see that the doctor had found his tattered pants. She held them up in the air, the hole and shredded fabric in the rear clearly visible, "What if this had been your neck!?" all could overhear her yell.

"That's it. Shows over," the Inspector bellowed, dispersing the crowd, "Get back to work!" All those present shared looks, and moved towards their various tasks, still too shocked, and too worried about the Inspector's wrath to talk with anyone else about the detective and the doctor.

William dropped his voice low, his hostage training taking effect, "Julia, You're right. I'm sorry. I know you worry. And I try – I really do …"

Her face softened. She took a deep breath. She did worry, they had talked about it often, but it seemed so much worse now.

He stepped closer, coached himself to breathe, to move slowly, to be calm. William continued to try to reassure her. "I didn't go alone," he said, and then waited for her.

It was true, that was one of the ways he had tried to change, to lower the inherent risk in his job. "I know," she said.

"And truly Julia, when I heard George screaming for help…" he said with his eyes wide and desperate. He shook his head, opened his hands to show her his helplessness.

"I know," she said again. She took a deep breath… then looked down at his tattered pants in her hands. "Were you hurt badly?" she asked.

William saw an opportunity to lighten the mood. "It is hard for me to tell… I can't actually see the wound," a corner of his mouth curled as he said it.

"Let me see then," she yielded.

"Here? Now?" he asked, receiving a nod. There was no dignified way to do it, though he would try. He turned his back to her and undid his trousers. "It's a good thing I keep an extra suit here in case of emergencies," he said.

As he lowered the trousers, Julia could see that his underwear had been ripped up too. There was blood. "Those too," the doctor ordered.

William lowered his underwear a few inches and then pulled down the side to reveal the cheek with the dog-bite. He heard her sigh. "What do you think doctor?" he asked.

"I think you won't be sitting down any time soon," she answered, humor coming through. "It doesn't seem to need stitches," she assessed as she pressed against the flesh around the wound.

"Good," he responded.

"It will bruise quite a lot. And the lacerations are deep enough that infection could be a problem," she said leaning down to better inspect the damage. "I can clean it up over in the morgue," she suggested. Her hands remained on his backside. She bent forward over him to whisper in his ear, "I suppose it's pretty good timing … with Dr. Tash's restrictions and all. It likely would have affected your ability to use these muscles … for our lovemaking, husband." She couldn't see his face but she knew he pulled up a side of his mouth, as if to scold her for her naughty comment, particularly while they were in his workplace.

"Ah yes," he said, "Poke at a man when he's down," prompting her to triumphantly giggle.

Julia stepped back and enjoyed the sight. "Quite an embarrassing spot," she commented. "Get it, embarr-ass-ing," she laughed, taking such glee in giving him a hard time. She was certain she would get plenty of opportunities to tease him with this particular injury.

Much to his wife's surprise, William responded with a joke of his own. "So, my punishment is to be that I am the _**BUT**_ of all your jokes now, is it?" he replied as he stood and reached to pull up his underwear.

Julia helped him, lifting his underwear away from his skin. He stood and pulled up his mismatched trousers, his back still to her as he fastened them.

She stepped close behind him and slid her arms around his waist from behind. "I do suspect I will not be the only one partaking in that endeavor, husband," she whispered. Unfortunately, he was sure she was right.

Getting back to business, she asked, "Shall we go to the morgue together, or do you have some urgent business here to deal with first?" The question brought them both to consider what everyone had seen, what they had heard – not just their arguing, but her pregnancy as well.

"People will likely be somewhat shocked … with our news," she offered.

"Yes," William said, turning around to face her. He placed his hands on her upper arms and looked her in the eye. "I know this was not the way we wanted to tell them…" he said, wrinkling his face in apology.

Julia rolled her eyes. "Well… it is good news," she said with her voice rising revealing her excitement.

"Yes," he agreed. William remembered calling the whole stationhouse around and standing up on a chair to announce their engagement. He would do the same thing now!

All eyes turned to the detective's door as it opened, most quickly darting back to their tasks. The couple walked to the center of the bullpen and William pulled over a chair. Everyone had noticed, and they were already starting to head towards the couple when William yelled out from atop the chair, with a huge smile on his face, "Everyone gather round… Listen up! I have an announcement to make. Well, you might have already heard, but Dr. Ogden and I are going to be parents! Cheers burst up, filling the stationhouse with congratulations and joy. When William stepped down from the chair he experienced the slightest bit of deja-vu as Julia rushed into his arms and they shared a kiss, to a grand round of applause. It was even better than when he had saved the Queen!

################

Over breakfast the next morning they poured over the paper. The headline in the Toronto Gazette read, " _ **Taking a Bite out of Crime**_."

"Clever," William said.

The story had made the front-page as the Inspector had predicted. Also on the front page was a story about the Meatpackers' Strike. The strike had been broken and the workers had lost. The paper said that the workers at Armour's plant had gotten a few concessions, largely because an activist woman named Jane Addams had met personally with the owner and convinced him to do so. Julia marveled at the social reformer being able to accomplish anything of the sort. She didn't tell William it was mostly because she knew Jonathan Ogden Armour so well, and he was not the type to give anything to anyone if he didn't have to.

Julia teased, "She must have given him quite a _kick in the pants_!" with a giggle.

He scowled, before joining in with her laughter, "Very funny, Julia. Very funny."

 _ **The End**_ (of this chapter) **– Pun intended ( ;**


	4. Chapter 4: The Ring and the LocketT

Murdoch in the Jungle_The Ring and the Locket

It was the end of November, past the time when the trees rustled with beautiful fall colors, and too early for the soft kiss of the first snowfall. The Murdoch's sat at their small table in their suite in the Windsor House Hotel, seemingly ravenous as they ate their breakfast. Julia was now seven months pregnant, and following Dr. Tash's advice, she had stopped working in the morgue a few days ago. Thus, it was only William who was rushed to get off to work on time. They were running late, as per usual now that they had re-started their lovemaking antics – relying on their "Plan C" in order to best protect their baby while still meeting what had proven to be their irresistible need to be intimately connected with each other. This morning had been particularly lovely, and a bit noisy as well, ultimately leading to the addition of another noise complaint they would need to address before they settled their bill with the hotel and moved into their own, newly constructed, beautiful house tomorrow.

There was an unexpected knock at the door, prompting the couple to glance at each other – it was too early for the kitchen crew to be collecting the breakfast cart. Knowing William was pressed for time, Julia went to answer the door. It was Constable Crabtree. She invited him in, apologizing for having left his Author's Awards Dinner early a few nights ago.

George held his constable's helmet in hand, dropping his eyes to fiddle with it, and tried to hide his hurt, "I understand doctor."

Julia felt a twinge of guilt, but reminded herself that leaving really had been essential. It had turned out to be one of the worst hurts she had ever felt with respect to William – her observing her husband having lustful thoughts about their waitress. She quickly reassured herself that it had worked out quite well in the end – bringing issues to light that they needed to deal with, like William's struggle with being able to be a good father, and prompting them to reinstate their lovemaking, albeit not quite as completely as they would have liked. Wishing they had not hurt George in the process, she repeated, "I am so sorry George…" before William walked up and changed the subject, asking…

"So what have you George?" saving her from considering offering an explanation for their early departure that difficult and tumultuous night.

Also relieved to get off of the current topic, George noticeably jumped to answer, "Sir!" with a nod, "You are needed. A dead body has been found and the caller said there were suspicions of _**foul**_ play …" Stepping further into the suite George continued talking as the detective put on his shoes. "Speaking of _**FOUL**_ play sir, I exited the stairwell a flight early just now – I guess my mind was somewhere else, and I was so surprised … I didn't know they allowed pets here? …"

"They don't George," William said.

"Well I not only saw one, I spoke to the owner, hence my joke sir … It was an African Grey Parrot," George declared. He waited for a reaction to his joke, but not getting one, he offered to explain it, " _ **Foul**_ play… _**parrot**_ …"

Julia teased, "Of course you know, George, that when you have to explain your joke, it wasn't a very good joke," a jesting smile taking her face.

"I'll have to agree with you there doctor," he replied humbly. "Actually doctor, you were helping me with the case when I first became acquainted with this type of bird – do you remember? I believe you also made a bad joke at the time – about _**finger**_ food," he countered.

Julia held back a laugh. She definitely remembered the time George was referring to – and at the time the constable, or rather, Acting Detective for Stationhouse 4, had struggled with keeping his lunch down as she had given him her post-mortem report, part of which included her showing him the stomach contents – which included the man's own finger. "Oh yes, I do remember George," she replied. Looking at William, she explained that it had been while he was bedridden and recovering from a fall and Constable Crabtree was acting as detective for Stationhouse #4. William nodded as he slid his suit jacket on.

Excitedly, George told the story, "They are very bright. The bird in this case actually _spoke_ , sir – and very clearly at that. An expert told me that the bird was not only repeating the exact words he had heard, but was also imitating the person's voice and timing and accent and everything as well. Now, sir …"

William was starting to look impatient with George's wanderings. Julia noticed and ducked her chin and smiled at her husband, urging for his tolerance.

George did not notice. He continued, "You would have figured it out right away, because you speak French sir, but I needed Higgins to tell me the bird was saying, "Eat the finger – mange le doigt," and this went a long way in helping me solve the case."

"Yes George, speaking of the case …" William pressed.

Finally getting to the point, George said, "Oh yes sir, it is a bit of a trip. I have Tom outside waiting for us with the carriage. I brought your murder bag.

Out of habit, all three of them drew their attention to Julia, who normally would accompany them to the scene as the coroner. Her current state of dress, merely a beautiful silk robe, served as a reminder that she would not be doing so. This would be their first body without her help.

George stuttered out, "Should I put a call in to Miss James … Or perhaps someone from another stationhouse?"

"Yes George," Julia responded, "I have made an arrangement with Dr. Kingsley from Stationhouse #3…" She looked to William, letting him finish to reassure her that he was comfortable with the plans.

"But we will also need to notify Miss James. The body will go to her at our morgue, and then Kingsley will come in to perform the autopsy," the detective explained.

"Very good, sir," George said with a quick nod. "May I use your phone?" he asked. George made the calls needed to arrange the collection and transport of the body, and for Dr. Kingsley to fit the extra postmortem into his schedule while William quickly swallowed the remainder of his tea and put on his coat.

As he kissed his wife goodbye, she informed him that he should expect Miss James to come with the carriage for the body at the scene. "She is very astute William. She may be of some help, and if you could, she is a quick study and … well, I think with your help, she will be a brilliant pathologist herself in time," Julia said.

George listened in, delighted in the doctor's faith and excitement in Miss James, for he had come to admire the young woman himself. He grew uncomfortable, however, as he watched his superior behave quite uncharacteristically, taking his wife firmly into his arms and whispering what George figured were sweet nothings in her ear, displaying his love, devotion, and dare he think it, sexual attraction – their sexual chemistry really, as he did so.

The constable turned away, feigning interest in the painting on the wall, certain his face had blushed, his mind replaying the images and sounds from only moments before, when he had heard a parrot, named Charlie, who, it turns out lives in the apartment of a sweet old lady right below the detective's and the doctor's, and he had approached the woman with the bird in the hall, finding himself somewhat enthralled by the animal. The parrot had run through its repertoire for George – a performance that sounded remarkably like the doctor, in which she begged, "William," to "please not stop," and declared how desperately she wanted him. His situation grew worse, as he had a nearly irresistible urge to giggle. He considered himself grateful that he had already told the couple about the parrot, of course leaving out of his story the content of the bird's utterings, and they seemed completely unaware of the whole situation.

Releasing her gently, William said, "Good," as he gave his wife a bow while seeming to magnetically hold her eyes with his gaze. "We're off George," he said, forcing himself away from his wife. So many thoughts ran through his mind as he closed the door behind him – how he would miss having her by his side on this case; how soon they would have their baby!; memories from this morning of the exquisite sounds, tastes, smells, and feelings that hurled through him as she moaned and cried with pleasure less than an hour ago; and memories of so many times when she cried desperately as she tried to cope with her fears of losing him – and the reminder to himself to be careful in response to it all.

"Where are we headed?" he asked as they left the hotel.

George, grateful the discomfort had passed surprisingly easily, stepped up into the police carriage after the detective. "The Junction. The caller suggested it was a doxy, sir," he answered.

The police carriage pulled up outside the front of a seedy brothel. William found he would always compare such establishments to Ettie Weston's _Music Academy_ , and in so doing, this one fell quite short. He stifled a sigh as he struggled with the rising feelings of despair he felt thinking of the young woman whose life story had brought them here to investigate her murder. The carriage that would take the body to the morgue had not yet arrived, but Miss James stood in front of the building, pacing and looking a bit anxious as she waited for them to step out of the carriage.

Constable Crabtree stepped down first. "Miss James, you got here fast," he greeted.

"Yes," she replied. "This is quite close to my home," she explained. As the detective joined them on the street she greeted him, "Detective Murdoch, I cannot thank you enough for allowing me to learn from you sir."

He stood before her, showing her what it likely was about him that had made her boss fall so madly in love with him – his smile. He gave her a polite bow as he tipped his hat and said, "Dr. Ogden highly recommended that I do so. There can be no better referral." His eyes turned to the steps into the building, "Shall we proceed," he suggested.

The body was that of a Caucasian woman, approximately 30 years-old. She was dressed in what appeared to be a showgirl costume, complete with a feathery, bushy short skirt and a boa. She lay on her back next to a row of garbage pails. There was blood visible on the back-left side of her outfit, suggesting the presence of a wound in her lower back.

Miss James remained standing as the detective and the constable crouched down over the body. "She was quite striking," the constable said.

The woman had been a beauty, that was for sure, her ash-blond hair curling and wisping around her face in a way that stirred William, reminding him of Julia.

Immediately the detective noticed it, was bothered by it. It prompted him to unconsciously reach for and twist his own wedding ring on his finger under his glove. " _Unusual_ ," he thought, " _a prostitute with a wedding ring."_ He had taken much teasing for wearing his, as many considered it not to be manly to do so. Perhaps that is why the ring stood out to him so, a wedding ring in certain circumstances considered by most to be out of place.

"There seems to be no purse, George," William said.

"Perhaps a robbery gone wrong?" the constable asked.

Miss James pushed herself to add her voice. "But she has a locket. Wouldn't they have stolen that as well?" she asked.

" _Also odd_ ," William thought, reminding himself that he and George were both wearing gloves, in this case to protect against the cold but also meaning that they would not accidently leave their fingermarks, as he reached up to turn the adornment over in his hand. The heart-shaped golden locket hung around the dead woman's neck, _opened_. "It seems the killer was more interested in removing the pictures in it than stealing the locket itself," he said. He pushed himself to think out loud for the benefit of the two people beside him whom he felt responsible for teaching. "Suggesting the killer knew the victim… wanted to hide her identity from us," he added. "Removing the pictures would have been an afterthought," he continued, pausing and then remembering to tell them why he thought so, "It would have been easier to take the locket than to open it and take the pictures. The action shows the killer made a rash decision."

"Probably not a robbery then," Rebecca concluded.

"Mm," the detective agreed. "George, have the men check these cans for any evidence – her purse, maybe the pictures that were in this locket… For that matter, check all the cans in the area," he instructed.

"Did anyone from the brothel recognize her?" William asked.

"Jackson and Higgins are questioning them now," the constable answered, "but the woman who called to report the body, the Madame I believe…"

" _If you could call her that_ ," William thought sarcastically in his mind, again comparing this situation to Miss Weston's.

"… Claimed she had never seen the woman before. Sir, she also said that she brought the garbage out last night around two in the morning and the body wasn't here then," George finished.

William sighed and asked, "Miss James do you see anything pertinent to the postmortem before we turn her over to see the wound on her back?

Rebecca studied the body. There appeared to be no visible wounds to speak of on her face or neck. Her hands and legs also looked relatively clean. There appeared the remnants of some rigor mortis. "May I check for lividity?" she asked.

"Good," he responded.

George stood and stepped back, giving her room to crouch down next to the body opposite from the detective. "She is cold," Rebecca reported. She checked both sides of the body's legs and neck and shoulders. "Liver mortis on the backs of the thighs and shoulders … I would say more than 12 hours … The lividity looks complete. There are still some signs of rigor, so less than 24 hours," she concluded.

The detective gave her a quick, approving smile. "I concur," he said, and then he moved back a little and the two of them rolled the body onto its stomach to reveal the blood-stained area on the back. The garment had dried blood on the area surrounding the left kidney. There was a slit in the fabric and the corset beneath it, suggesting a knife as the weapon more so than a bullet.

"May I?" Rebecca asked, squatting down next to them.

Detective Murdoch placed his hands on his knees. "Please," he said.

The coroner in training lifted the outfit's top away from the skirt and loosened some of the laces on the corset underneath to reveal the wound. "It looks like a knife wound," she said, stating what was obvious to all of them. She pressed against the flesh and explained, "It appears the killer knew their way around a body, sir."

"Oh?" the detective asked, raising an eyebrow.

She nodded confidently and continued, "The entry wound is just below the bottom rib, but it is aimed upward into the kidney. That seems quite intentional." She focused her attention on the skin around the entry and added, "The murderer had to use a great deal of force; the tissue is ragged and bruised. The weapon was likely not very sharp."

William stood up, controlling the urge to groan as his knees had stiffened quite a bit, nagging him with the reminder that he wasn't getting any younger, and for the briefest moment sending his mind onto a tangent with the memory of Father Keegan warning him not to wait too long to have children because old men and young children don't mix. "I see," he claimed. He ran an image, of how the murder might have occurred through his mind – the murderer, likely a man in this case in order to have adequate strength, stepping up behind the victim and plunging a knife upwards into her lower back. " _No! That's wrong … or he was left handed,_ " William yelled at himself. Immediately, another image ran, this one putting the man in front of the victim. He stepped close, taking her into a hug, digging the knife into her back while reaching around to push it up into the left side of her back.

"Miss James, does there appear to be a sufficient amount of blood here to match the wound?" he asked, himself thinking there was not.

"No sir," she answered quickly, her mind immediately understanding that he had determined that the victim was not likely killed here from that fact.

"George, let's check some of these cans ourselves. Perhaps they used a carpet or a blanket or something to move the body here," he instructed.

"May we take the body now, detective?" Rebecca asked.

Already lifting the lid of a nearby garbage can the detective replied, "Yes. Dr. Kingsley will be by to start the autopsy sometime today I believe…" Deciding that he was looking for larger items – a blanket or a purse, rather than smaller items like the pictures from the locket, he quickly returned the lid and went on to another can. "And Miss James, could you please take some samples of the blood from the clothing. Test it to ensure it is human," he said.

"Yes sir," she answered. But her mind rushed, " _Why. What makes him think it might not be human blood?_ " the question plagued her, causing her to pause.

It was Constable Crabtree however, who asked it, "Why sir?"

He had seen it when he had imagined the stabbing. "The cut in the corset and the dress do not line up properly with the wound on the body," he explained.

Both Miss James and the constable checked the body as it lay before them on the ground with their own eyes. Yes, it did appear that the cuts in the garments were too low and too far away from the center of the body to align with the wound properly if the woman had been standing upright when stabbed.

" _Amazing,_ " Rebecca thought.

"Quite right, sir," George declared, "Then the clothing might have been put on afterwards, of course… And then the killer would have had to fake the blood…" George asked as he moved on to lift the lid on another garbage can, "Oh, speaking of the clothing, sir, do you want me to check around to see if we can find an establishment where the girls wear these outfits? And of course the other local brothels?" he said.

"Yes," William answered. His mind flashed the image of the woman's wedding ring at him again, but before he could really address the thought …

George called out, "Sir!" excitedly. He had found something! "The purse!" George exclaimed, lifting the gray-colored bag into the air.

It reminded William of many of the purses Julia had, that tied together at the top to make a loop that could go around the wrist. "Excellent!" he declared, hurrying over to see for himself. "It seems to have some blood on it … And look here George," he continued, lifting the garbage-pan lid from the edges and holding up to better reveal under the handle. "There seems to be a bloody fingermark here as well," he stated.

"Yes sir," the constable exclaimed, "Most likely the fingermark of our killer!"

Rebecca looked on, excited by the investigation, and disappointed because the body had been put on the stretcher and she would have to take her leave. In her mind she thanked Dr. Ogden once more for all she had done for her and allowed herself a moment to acknowledge her awe at the skills and the minds of both the doctor and the doctor's husband. She counted herself to be quite lucky to be included in their circle, on so many levels. She reminded herself to do her very best to live up to their expectations of her and forced herself to turn away.

Inside the purse they found some important evidence. There was a train ticket from Winnipeg from three days ago – she had not been here long from the looks of it. And there was a set of keys, likely to a boarding house, they figured. The keys were on a keychain with a Catholic Saint that William recognized to be St. Valentine. His mind rushed back to the woman's wedding ring again – and the heart-shaped locket. " _This woman was deeply in love with her husband_ ," he thought, finding that somehow the whole situation made him think of himself and Julia.

"This is a Catholic Saint," William said to George. "I will ask at the Catholic Churches… We will need her photograph, for questioning people in the neighborhood, the burlesque houses, the brothels, and now the Catholic Churches as well," he said, adding, "Oh, and the train stations as well. Perhaps she was with someone when she arrived."

"Right away sir," George responded.

As the detective and the constable rode back to the stationhouse in the police carriage, William pushed himself to bring up his apology for his and Julia's leaving George's Awards Dinner early. He wanted to avoid sharing their reason for having done so, for it was very personal, and … unflattering … to himself, having been caught ogling the waitress by Julia, devastating her in a way that hurt him so deeply he wasn't sure the wounds would ever completely heal for either of them. He swallowed, pushing the painful memory down into the periphery, and took a deep breath, drawing the younger man's attention.

"George," he started. He glanced at the younger man sitting on the seat next to him. It was not uncommon that William found himself aware of his warm feelings for George as he did just now. The man was, in many ways, an absolute marvel. And a truer, more loyal friend and fellow policeman could never be. But, what stirred him most, he thought, was how very different George was from himself – prone to exaggerate and fantasize, seemingly living in a world that only bordered on scientific reality at times. And yet, something about the man's heart touched him – resonated with him – in some deep, unseen way seeming to vibrate at the same note as his own.

"I hope you understand that Julia and I would never have left the dinner before your speech if it were not absolutely necessary," he continued, pausing.

"Of course, sir," George answered. It was his intent to reassure, but he was unable to hide the hurt.

William searched for something more. " _Ask about the speech_ ," he heard Julia's voice advise in his head. " _She is brilliant!"_ he thought, partially laughing at his ability to give his wife credit for a thought inside his own head. "I would very much have loved to hear your speech, George," he said. "Do you think I could read it?" he asked.

A big smile covered the constable's face, bringing a happy jolt to William's heart. "Would you, sir?" George asked excitedly.

William smiled back. "I look forward to it," he responded.

George's mood grew more serious and he said, "You should know sir, most of it was addressed to you." Quickly George grew uncomfortable and rushed to add, "And of course the Inspector … and the lads … and my aunts … well … in the end, truth be told sir, it was mostly a thanks to you."

Fortunately, William's face showed his feelings of being honored by George's high esteem and gratitude, for he found himself speechless. Also fortunate, was the fact that George Crabtree rarely found himself at a loss for words.

George spared the detective, going on to say, "I wanted you to know how much you have mattered to me, how important you have been in my life. And be it as a copper or as a writer, I know in my heart that knowing you as I have has made me a better man."

William felt the blood rushing to his cheeks and seemed completely incapable of wiping the huge smile off of his face, causing the constable much glee.

"I see I have touched you sir. And I am glad," he said. "I wanted you to know," George concluded.

"Thank you, George," the detective replied. "I am truly touched. And I hope you know I feel much the same about you," he added. He clamped his lips together and gave George a slight bow. Relief was taking hold as William felt his temperature returning back to normal. He changed the subject, "Back to the case at hand, then?" he suggested.

George had figured that the detective and the doctor had argued, or that some 'woman' problem had arisen suddenly – perhaps having to do with the doctor's pregnancy. He had always hoped that he and the detective would have the kind of friendship where they openly discussed such things, even having had tried a few times (like after discovering Emily Grace was a sapphist), but it seemed that such discussions were very uncomfortable for the detective. George was bright enough, had faith in his belief that the detective truly held him to be a trustworthy friend and confidant enough, to know in his heart not to take the detective's reluctance to self-disclose personally, or as a sign of lack of trust in any way. No, he knew this was the nature of the man … and he took comfort in his suspicion that, at least with his wife, Dr. Ogden, the detective did open up. Deep down George knew that it was the detective's and the doctor's deep, personal, intimate trust in each other that made their relationship so special… He took comfort in knowing the man he so cared for had found such happiness.

William was simply glad that George did not ask, taking the younger man's discretion as another example of the maturity and kindness he knew existed in his friend.

"Yes sir," George responded. "What do you know about this St. Valentine?" he asked.

William explained that St. Valentine is not actually the patron saint of lovers as most people assume, but of soul mates – he is a saint for people who have already found a love that seems destined and unavoidable.

"Like you and Dr. Ogden, sir," George said.

It was the way he said it that so shook William, with utter and complete confidence and certainty, like it was obvious, a given. He took a deep breath and let the warmth of the joy, the joy of being known and loved, and of being oh so lucky to experience such a love and to have friends who are truly happy for you in that love, the power of the feeling, as it expanded through him, threatened to overwhelm him momentarily, causing his pause. He smiled and bowed to George again. "Yes, I believe so, George," was all he said.

Once back at the station, William put a call in to Julia at home. "…Yes, she was quite helpful. She quickly determined that the knife went under the bottom rib and up into the kidney… Yes, she explained that as well, perhaps a doctor in order to be so familiar with anatomy?" he said to her into the phone. William wrinkled up a corner of his mouth, questioning in his mind his wife's suggestion that it could even be a butcher … anyone who knew their way around a body, because it wouldn't have to necessarily be a human body to know the whereabouts of the ribs on the back and the kidneys.

"Julia," he asked, "what do you make of the fact that she wore a wedding ring? Wouldn't that be unlikely for a prostitute?" As he listened to her response he felt a twinge of discomfort. He had also thought to contact Ettie Weston, particularly once they had found that the train ticket came from Winnipeg, where he knew Ettie had moved to set up a "coffee house," but … he sensed Julia felt some jealousy when it came to his relationship with Ettie, and having her suggest that Ettie would know more about the habits of prostitutes than his wife would surged a pang of uncomfortable nausea in his gut. "I suppose that is true," he answered.

Then he remembered why he had called. "Oh, Julia, I know you are not actually working in the morgue for a while, but do you think you could go there to perform a quick procedure – one I really only trust you to do?" he asked. Such memories flooded him as he prepared to make his request, accompanied by feelings of sadness and hope, and regret, and even a sense of childlike naughtiness and the fear of being caught. He planned to ask her if she would make a frozen Jello-mold of the weapon used to make the wound. It was unavoidable that they would each experience memories of the other time he had asked her to do the same thing, when she was visiting Toronto with Darcy, from Buffalo, so that her family could meet her fiancée. It flashed clearly before his eyes – Julia tugging the green, poker-shaped frozen Jello stick out of Mr. Jenkins' forehead at the very moment that Dr. Francis charged into the morgue catching them in the act! He was still surprised by the intensity of the pain he felt remembering how very much in love with her he was at the time, and how she loved another – or at least he had believed so. He listened to the tone of her voice as she agreed to come by the stationhouse later with the Jello, certain that she felt the emotions of the powerful memories flowing through her veins as well. He decided, remembered really, his plans from earlier, at that moment, that he would buy her flowers tonight. _My God, he was grateful to have her as his wife_ … and he still felt the urge to hop up-and-down and to jump with the thought – _and as the mother of his child!_

Before he hung up, he remembered his earlier conversation with George in the police carriage on the way back to the station, prompting him to ask Julia if she would mind if the two of them took George out to dinner tonight, "to make up for leaving George's Author's Awards Dinner early and missing his speech." She seemed excited about the idea, suggesting that they try a new Indian Restaurant she had heard about.

When Higgins and Jackson returned they filled the detective in on their findings. The questioning of the women in the brothel led nowhere – no one recognized the dead woman. In the next alleyway over, the constables had found a blood-soaked large sheet of burlap and a small bucket containing what appeared to be the remnants of blood. Both were sent along to the morgue to be checked to see if the blood was human. There was no sign of the locket's small photos.

Detective Murdoch headed over to the morgue to take the photograph of the victim himself and to check in with Miss James, letting her know to expect Dr. Ogden as well as Dr. Kingsley. By the time Julia showed up to share lunch with him, he had the copies of the photo of the woman for the constables and himself to use in their inquiries. He intended to visit the Catholic churches himself with the photo and the St. Valentine keychain after lunch.

After they had shared their meal and Julia headed over to the morgue to make the Jello-mold of the wound, William retrieved his bicycle, having had left in the stationhouse stables the night before, and rode his wheel out to the Junction to investigate if anyone at one of the Catholic churches remembered their victim. He supposed that since the train ticket was only from three days ago, it would be more helpful to meet with church people who were in attendance on a weekday rather than waiting until Sunday.

He started with the church closest to where the body was found, with no luck. However, the priest there recommended he try a small church in the adjoining neighborhood that served mostly Eastern European parishioners. It was in the nearby Stockyards area. He noticed, as he disembarked from his bicycle, that despite the cold weather, the pungent order from the area still reeked of the stenches of livestock and some other awful smell that reminded him of death. " _This is why Toronto is nicknamed 'Hogtown' after all_ ," he thought.

The building was barely recognizable as a church until he stepped inside. He crossed himself and greeted the priest, who put him in touch with an older woman who spoke broken English. She was Lithuanian and remembered the victim even before she saw the photograph, merely by the description, the detective's photograph serving only to bolster her certainty. She remembered the woman was named Ieva … that she was looking for her husband, though the woman had been unable to help her with her quest for she had never seen the man in the photograph that the woman showed her. When pushed by William to remember the husband's name she was unable. She took the detective's number and promised to call if she remembered anything else. She provided another important clue on the trail though, telling William that the woman had wanted help finding a place to stay … and that she had very little money. She sent her to a friend's boarding house – William's next stop.

The boarding house, if you could call it that for it was so rickety and run-down it could barely be described as more than a structure, was owned by a very old woman, also Lithuanian. She only knew the victim's first name, Ieva. She said she had agreed to let Ieva stay there free of charge to help out a fellow Lithuanian in trouble. The landlady had not seen or heard of Ieva since yesterday morning.

William was shown to a small room in the basement. When he checked the lock on the door with the keys on the St. Valentine's keychain, the landlady recognized the keychain as being Ieva's. Excitement pumped through William as he found that one of the keys slipped into the hole in the lock and then clicked the lock into place. Ultimately the other key would also fit the landlady's front door. The clues were panning out!

Searching the victim's room was quite easy, for it was extremely small and contained very little. The woman slept between two coats; each of them men's coats, and were of a size fitting for a man who would have been quite large in stature. " _Her husband was very big,_ " William thought as he checked the pockets. In one of the inside pockets he found a bunch of letters all tucked into one envelope. The envelope was stamped from Toronto and had a date, July 15, 1904. They were written in Lithuanian, so William turned to the landlady, asking her to interpret. There was also a photo, likely of her husband – and the one Ieva was using in her search for him. The man was young, handsome and wore a moustache. He appeared to be very muscular. " _Likely worked as a laborer,_ " William thought.

According to the landlady, all of the letters were signed, "Your loving husband." His words spoke very lovingly of his wife … and the couple had a son, named Matis.

William turned his attention to what seemed to be a small shrine in the corner of the dingy room with a photograph of a very young boy. " _Likely Matis_ ," he thought. A deep sense of sadness ran through his veins, managing to chill him and scald him at the same time, as his brain reasoned, " _The boy seems to have died._ " He consciously fought to push away the image that followed, of Julia's pregnant belly under his hand as they lay in bed this morning, as they spoke of _their baby_ hearing his father's voice from within the womb and feeling loved and safe in association with being bathed in the sound. Even just this tiny inkling of what it might feel like as he imagined losing his child threatened to starve his ability to breathe.

William forced himself to pay attention to the landlady's further interpretations of Ieva's husband's letters. None of them gave an indication as to where in Toronto the man had been living, or even what job he was working at, though he was working and earning money, which he was also sending back to Ieva. The top letter, most likely the last one she had received, referred to his coming into a large sum of money. " _Likely related to his disappearance,_ " William thought, " _Not a good sign … maybe what got him killed._ "

The detective thanked the old woman for helping him and gave her his number in case she remembered anything that she had forgotten to tell him. As he headed back to the stationhouse he reminded himself to have the constables show Ieva's picture around the neighborhood near the landlady's home – And her husband's as well. " _Ah yes_ ," he thought with a smile, " _And don't forget the flowers!"_

Back at the stationhouse, a dozen roses in hand, William picked up his messages and then stopped by the bullpen to ask how the inquiries were going.

Higgins lit up with the sight of the detective holding the flowers, capitalizing on the situation as an opportunity to show off his clever observation skills from the past, declaring, "So I was right all those years ago after all, sir – the detective was in love."

All eyes smiled on William, who stalled remembering his public embarrassment at being called out for being in love with Julia a decade or so ago, and having his own invention, the pneumograph or truthilizer, prove it to be true in front everyone's very own eyes – including Julia's beautiful, big blue ones – as the blue liquid squiggled and shot up in the tube. Unavoidably, his face grew red as blood flowed up to his cheeks and the temperature in the room seemed to surge. He dropped his eyes down to the yellow roses in his arm, and felt his tongue plunge into the side of his cheek, as he tried to find a response.

The Inspector's voice called out from behind him, lowering the pressure that was humming in his ears, as everyone looked behind William.

"I suppose," the Inspector's tone bright with play, "that our detective here has also come to see that _**I**_ was also right all those years ago – when I claimed that there was an even better detector of the truth than his gadget… It's called a wife!" he teased … garnering much laughter, including the detective's.

Somewhat relieved, William chuckled, "That is true, sir. That is true."

Jackson added, "As a fellow married man, I can attest to that as well," earning more laughter, adding to the fun.

Constable Flanders asked, "Is that why you need the flowers detective, you got caught in a lie?"

Detective Murdoch stood up taller, and proudly declared, "No…" then smiled and seemed in danger of blushing again, pulling his eyes down to the floor temporarily as he continued, "Well, at least not his time anyway." They all shared a laugh, although the detective's face wrinkled slightly in contemplation as he considered whether or not he actually could remember ever lying to Julia – he was pretty certain he never had…

The inspector pulled the men back to the police-work at hand, "So, bug-a-lugs, what have you got so far?"

Detective Murdoch stated the facts as they were known thus far, describing the victim and the scene where the body was found, and informing everyone about the items of evidence that were in the morgue – a purse, probably the victim's, with some blood on it, and a garbage-pail lid with a bloody fingermark on it, and also a burlap sheet with blood on it – likely from when the body was moved to the back alley behind the brothel, and a bucket with what they suspect was blood in it – suggesting animal blood may have been used on the clothing to make it look like that was what the woman was wearing.

The detective informed them that he also had reason to believe the woman was made to look like she was a prostitute rather than actually being one because she wore a wedding ring. He went on to say that there were also some items of the victim's recovered from her purse and on her person – the train ticket from Winnipeg, a set of keys on a keychain – which led to finding the room where she was staying, and there discovering a bunch of letters from her husband along with the man's photograph. The victim was also wearing a locket, the photographs in it had been removed, but they were most likely of her husband and their young son … "Whom I believe died," Detective Murdoch said, displaying the young boy's photo and describing the shrine the victim had made for him in her room.

They would be testing the locket for fingermarks as well, the detective added. He was optimistic they would find one because the bloody fingermark the killer left on the garbage-pail lid suggested he was not wearing gloves.

The constables had come up dry, their questioning of any possible witnesses who might have seen the victim from the burlesque clubs and brothels finding no one who recognized the woman in the photograph. This further bolstered the detective's theory that the woman was not actually a prostitute or showgirl.

" _I still want to call Ettie about her_ ," William thought to himself, barely having time to acknowledge the edge of uneasiness that he felt with the thought.

However, the showgirl costume she had been wearing matched with those used by women at a club called, "The Moons." The owner claimed to know of none of their outfits that had gone missing, but he said that some of the performers had more than one costume. He was going to ask the women tonight and let us know.

According to Constable Higgins, a man who helped people with their luggage at the train station for tips recognized the victim. "He said she arrived alone and did not need any help because she only had one small bag," Higgins explained. "It doesn't hurt people's memories any that she was quite a looker," he added, getting much agreement.

Detective Murdoch instructed Crabtree to make copies of the photograph he had found in Ieva's room of the husband … and then to ask around at the same burlesque places and brothels, as well as in the Junction and the Stockyards to see if anyone recognized him. He shared his thoughts with the men about the husband's possible jobs, explaining that, "Based on the man's muscular build from what can be seen in his photograph, and his large size from the coats his wife had in her possession, and the location near the Junction and the Stockyards, I think it pertinent to include inquiring at businesses like the abattoirs (slaughterhouses), and near the freight train lines."

It was agreed that it was too late to do the tasks today and, if anyone of the constables on duty over the weekend had a chance then they would get to it. William hoped to dissuade anyone from expecting him to work on the case over the weekend as he and Julia were moving into their new house. He decided to remind everyone. "As you all know, Dr. Ogden and I are moving this weekend. Please make sure you all have updated the records as to the new address and phone number so I can be reached if need be," he said.

"Oh, and lastly, I have a message here from the morgue to see Miss James," he added. "I will update you all on what she has to add if I get back before you have headed home for the night," he concluded. He asked George to follow him into his office.

"George," he said, "I expect I will be quick at the morgue. There should be no problem with Dr. Ogden and I meeting you at the restaurant by six."

"Very good sir," George replied, "I am looking forward to it."

"Good," William said, "We will see you there."

Detective Murdoch was disappointed when he arrived at the morgue to find that Dr. Kingsley had not yet started the postmortem, however, he was pleased to learn that Rebecca James had written up her report on the blood testing she had done. She led Detective Murdoch to Dr. Oden's desk explaining, "I have labeled and stored all of the samples in case there may be any further tests to run…" She hesitated, wondering if she should draw attention to her lack of experience and decided not to do so, thus she did not tell him she also saved the samples in case there was some question as to the quality of her work. "And of course, there is still some blood on the evidence that could be used if necessary as well," she finished.

She handed the detective her report and he started looking it over, asking, "Miss James, could you tell me your findings. I can read up on the details later, if you don't mind." He lifted his chin and his eyes met hers.

" _My goodness, he looks so curious, so excited, so interested,"_ Rebecca noticed, his enthusiasm striking her as contagious, surging her own. "Well, it is really quite intriguing," she began her response.

William found himself thinking that her statement reminded him of how Julia would start a report. He took a deep breath and focused. It seems his wife was right about Miss James, but of course, he was not surprised, Julia was a very good judge of character.

Rebecca continued, "The blood on the dress and on the corset was not human, as you suspected detective. I checked samples from multiple different locations on the garments."

William nodded. " _Enough time for the blood to dry before changing the clothes,_ " he thought.

"Also, as you likely suspected," she went on, "the bucket contained animal blood as well."

William nodded again and asked, "And the burlap sheet?" already fairly confident in the answer.

"Human blood," Miss James stated. She saw his satisfaction. Was it with her work? Was it with his being correct in his suspicions? Perhaps both…

"I am so puzzled, detective?" she looked to him, her fascination quickly fading as she realized she may be asking more of him than was her right. But she so wanted to be able to see into his keen brain, grasp his thinking, somehow expecting to be impressed by him again. "May I ask, detective, what do you expect to learn from these blood tests beyond the fact that the victim was not originally dressed in a showgirl costume?

Detective Murdoch explained that he planned to use the type of blood, whether it was animal or human, and where it was located on the evidence to piece together the timing of the events after the murder. His expression reassured her that she was not intruding, that he enjoyed sharing his thoughts with her. He went on to enlighten her to his logical steps. He closed the report and expounded, "We know that within an hour or so of the murder the body was wrapped in the burlap sheet because of the extent of the human blood on the burlap. We also know that the body was changed into the showgirl costume later than a few hours after the murder because there was not any human blood on the outfit, thus the body did not cross-contaminate the clothing with its blood."

William was getting to the really good part now, leaning closer to her, making it almost seem like he was sharing a secret, he continued, "Also, because there was not any human blood on the showgirl costume, we know the burlap sheet was used to move the body…" The detective paused and a smile grew on his face showing his excitement, "… a second time …" he said, standing up taller and clasping his hand into a victorious fist.

Rebecca shook her head, not quite getting how that evidence led to his conclusion.

William took a deep breath and worked to better explain, "The burlap sheet is only needed to move the body, right?"

Rebecca nodded.

"And we know the body was moved when the blood was still wet," he continued, but paused for her to agree.

Rebecca nodded again, "Yes, her blood got on the burlap."

"And then the burlap sheet had to be removed to change the body into the showgirl costume, which was done at least a few hours after the murder because her blood did not get on the costume, right?" he asked again.

Rebecca nodded, "Right," she replied.

"Now it is important to figure in that it is unlikely that the killer changed the clothing on the body while it lay behind the brothel… Too much chance of someone happening upon him," he said next, "So he would not likely have brought the body to the alleyway in the burlap sheet and then changed her into the costume there…"

Rebecca's mind raced forward and her face lit up! She was getting to it!

William waited for her to arrive at his same conclusion on her own.

She exclaimed, "And the body we found was dressed in the showgirl costume, so either the killer changed the clothing in the alleyway, at least a few hours after the murder because the body didn't get blood on the costume, and then he disposed of the dried burlap sheet there, but doing it this way increased his chances of getting caught." Rebecca took a deep breath and then reasoned out another explanation, "Or the killer could have used the burlap sheet to move her somewhere else to change her clothing, which again had to be at least a few hours after she was killed, and then use the dried burlap sheet a second time to transport the body to the alleyway, with the burlap not cross-contaminating the showgirl costume with human blood in this case because it had already dried… I see." Excitedly she declared, "That's brilliant!"

The detective joined her happiness, solidifying the logic, "Moving the body twice with the same burlap sheet best explains how the burlap got wet human blood on it but the showgirl costume did not."

Rebecca fortified their theory even more explaining, "Besides, if the killer changed the clothing while the body was in the alleyway, sometime between 2 a.m. and when the Madame called at around 7 a.m., then the body would have been in the stiffest stage of rigor, making it very difficult to change the clothing at that time."

"Very good," the detective said, giving her a nod. He took a deep breath and changed the subject. "Now, I believe Dr. Ogden made a mold of the weapon…"

"Oh yes, sir. It's in the cold storage with the body," Rebecca jumped to say.

The Jello-mold Julia had made showed that the knife was a little less than 5 inches long, with both sides of the blade being symmetrical, and that it was very, very dull – making William question whether or not it was really a knife at all. The detective made arrangements for Miss James to be present when Dr. Kingsley performed the postmortem tomorrow and thanked her for all of her good work. Then he hurried to take his leave.

The Murdoch's arrived at the Indian restaurant a little late, finding George was already there waiting for them. They were in wonderful moods, having just come from confronting the hotel clerk about their unfounded noise complaints and being informed that there was very good evidence that it was the couple's loud lovemaking, particularly the doctor's exclamations using William's name, that was responsible for said complaints. Although they had been abstaining from making love at the time that most of the noise complaints had been made, the fact that the loud declarations came from Julia seemed indisputable. They had speculated that even her loud dreaming could be overheard. In the end, though, the incident highlighted their jubilation with the romantic aspect of their relationship. They seemed ready to celebrate as they joined George at their table.

William had warned himself ahead of time to keep his eyes, and his thoughts, off of the waitress, or any other woman besides Julia, after having strayed so badly the last time they had gone out – to George's Author's Awards Dinner as fate would have it. He doubled up his armor once they were shown to their table and their _female waitress_ arrived. William had no way of knowing how rare it was for an Indian restaurant to employ women to wait on tables, having never been to such an establishment before. The owner of this restaurant, however, only had daughters – their waitress was the oldest daughter of the man.

William, being on high alert ( and figuring Julia was as well), had the impression that their waitress found him attractive, even just the way she looked at him during her introduction pounding his heart – with fear, not with lust. Only a few moments into the evening she outwardly flirted with him…

"You have such big, brown eyes, sir – so warm and spicy, like a tamarind and chocolate dessert," she had said as he had marveled at, and remarked on, the special bread and exotic sauces she had served them.

He thought he had heard Julia gasp. His mind threatened to swirl away into a panic in response to the whole current state of affairs. He had to be quick – _nip this in the bud somehow_ , he told himself. The one thing he knew for certain was that he had best look at Julia not at that waitress, and no matter what, he had to make it obvious that he was in love with his wife. " _That should be easy_ ," he thought, " _I am madly in love with my wife!"_

The feeling was exquisite, the moment he looked into Julia's eyes. His heart seemed to open, to warm. He smiled at her and said, speaking to the waitress, while never leaving Julia's big, blue eyes, "So my wife tells me. She even claims she hopes our baby has my eyes… though I find hers to be particularly beautiful." Julia returned his smile, prompting him to take in a deep, slow, breath. Her look caused him to forget whatever it was he was going to say next, thus his lips remained stuck together in his smile.

It was George who broke the silence. "Well, err ... either way, then, the baby will have beautiful eyes," he exalted. The trance broken, the couple looked away from each other. Everyone looked at George.

Julia said, "That's right, George. Thank you."

The waitress nearly curtsied she suddenly felt so uncomfortable. "Why yes of course," she said and then hurried away.

William thrust his eyes down on his plate and swallowed in an attempt to cure his dry throat, quickly thinking to take a sip of water. George watched on, enthralled by the show. Julia tucked her chin in and seemed to study her husband. She lifted her glass of wine and took a sip, her eyes remaining stuck on William as she did so. There was a connection between them, intense and strong, though William only offered the periphery of his eyes.

A smile appeared on Julia's face, one that shone with both mischief and compassion. "Well played, detective," she said, raising her glass, offering him a toast of sorts.

My God, they shared a look, when William's eyes rose to meet hers, sparkling and dark, capturing her in his gaze. He touched his water glass to her glass of wine with a connecting clink.

Julia leaned closer to him over the corner of the table, locked her arm into William's and squeezed him tight. Once again her eyes held his as she declared, "I love you William Murdoch, I really, really do."

William moved closer and tilted his head to tuck his lips near her ear and whisper, "And I you."

George felt compelled to stare, although the voice inside his head urged him to look away, to give them some measure of privacy. " _Probably something like that happened the night of my dinner– but Detective Murdoch did not, "play," it quite so well that time,_ " he imagined. He remembered how problematic it had been for himself and Emily when he had been acting as Detective Murdoch in Mr. Pendrick's movie, and the "Dr. Ogden" character was so forward with him, taking him into a vigorous kiss. His chest filled with empathy for the detective, the emotions of fear and loss emitted by the memory so quickly dissipated as he observed the detective and the doctor now, so obviously in love with each other.

Inhaling their image, he felt a sensation like hot steam overtake him, slide into him, making it hard to breathe. Something primitive and mystical stirred from deep inside of his core. The sensation was so sensual, as George's mind and body overflowed with the fantasy of the slow, deep, melting movement and succulent feel of physically loving another. Lust and a desire for intimate touch soaked his being, as he heard the hungry sounds of pleasure in his head, in this case supplied by the parrot's voice from this morning, now, not eliciting the urge to laugh, but rather the yearning to reach for, to touch, to share, to join with another, while he sat at the table and he envisioned their passion. A powerful blend of awe and envy filled him, followed by sadness and longing and loneliness. How much he wished his mind had conjured up an image of Nina with such desperate and entrancing feelings, for making love with her had been – still was – wonderful. But it had not. No, his mind, his inner essence, sent him Edna. And he knew the ache would never go away.

He started to reason, to work to find comfort, thinking of having had watched the detective suffer so with the loss of his one true love when the doctor had moved away, married another. Fate, destiny, the detective would likely think God, ended his pain, brought her back to him. Or perhaps it was simply the power of their love that defied the odds …

Julia pulled back and let William go. She looked to George, drawing him further out of his thoughts, and then she looked back to William. "I hope we haven't scared her away," she said of the flirtatious waitress, "I am quite excited to try my _Matar Paneer,"_ she added, her eyes growing wide with excitement.

Appearing to have handled her embarrassment well, the waitress delivered their meals, speaking comfortably with them about the various garnishes that are commonly used with each dish. While they ate, the topic of discussion settled on George's speech at the Author's Awards Dinner.

He had brought the speech with him, and pulled the paper out of his vest pocket. William and Julia glanced at it. It was shorter than either of them expected, knowing how verbose George could be at times. They encouraged him to read it to them, which he did.

George's speech began with a quick tale about the hero in his latest book bounding through multiple adventures and confronting a moral dilemma. He said of the story, that, "you write what you know, and yet, he did not KNOW how to be the man he wrote about, the man he aspired to be." Then he confided in the audience, telling them that his character was based on a man he did know, "But in reality the story's hero is a mixture of myself and this man – Detective William Murdoch, who has served as my mentor, my superior, and my friend for much of my adult life."

George read, "Now, people who are familiar with the detective and myself will wonder about my joining the two of us together into my protagonist, claiming that we are so very different from each other. And I admit, in many ways we are. The detective is a serious sort, while I am quite a jokester at times. Detective Murdoch has an uncanny way of focusing on something, his intensity seemingly burning through any problems he encounters, and again I differ, for I tend to approach things using a more carefree, some might say, "scatter-brained," method. But I feel an affinity with the man as I have never felt with any other. And I know in my heart that we are not so very different."

He paused from his reading again, looking to Julia he said, "I adlibbed a line in there about how the detective had become more playful and fun-loving as a result of being in love with you. It got a bunch of laughs."

Julia smiled and glanced at her husband. "Why George!" she exclaimed, "That is absolutely lovely," she said, tipping back the last of her wine.

William quickly called over a busboy, asking, "Could you please have the waitress bring my wife another glass of wine …"He looked to George, "You as well, George?"

"I'd be glad to join you doctor," George declared.

William gave the busboy a quick nod. Then he turned and smiled at Julia. He reached up and tucked a curl behind her ear. Unusual for him to show such affection in public, he submitted to his own wishes, keeping his touch on her skin, letting the outer edge of his fingers travel along the delicate, tender skin of her jawline, and placing his thumb, just momentarily, to hold her chin. The gesture spoke his heart – for he cherished her thoroughly.

William placed his hand on top of hers and dropped his eyes. When they returned, there was an air of playfulness twinkling in them. "I guess now the whole Constabulary knows who to blame for my bad jokes," he shared with a self-deprecating chuckle.

"Well sir," George leaned in closer to the couple, "At least now you make them," he said, adding, "Besides, some aren't half bad," with his teasing earning a round of moans and some condolences for the detective.

It was the doctor that pulled them back to George's speech. She took a sip of her newly-filled wine and said, "You have more there, George," looking at the speech in his hand, "Do you say how you and the detective are similar?"

"I believe so, doctor," he replied, turning once again at his written words. George read some more, "I have watched him closely, and Detective Murdoch lives his life as a fervent struggle to always try to do what is right, guided by the truth, but ultimately centered in, deeply seeded in, compassion and caring for one's fellow man – and woman. The powerful thing, however, is that he sees the same thing in me – creating a deep feeling of kinship between us. What I don't think he knows is how important he has been in inspiring me to live my life this way. He has made me a better man, and in becoming so I have learned that the best you can ever be is to always try to be better."

George lowered the paper and said, "It is almost done," continuing once they urged him to do so.

He read on, "I have learned from him that what is right is fluid, and often complicated, taking into account a myriad and immeasurable number of variables, and that because of this there are no rules, in the end, to rely upon, and finally that all of this compounds to make a life in which each moment matters. And, so very often it takes more than I think I have within me to find what is right and then to be brave enough to do it... There are many ways to encourage. And I tell you now, that encourage is what the detective has done for me, intentionally with his words and his actions, but also unintentionally, as a model, and a confidant. He has put COURAGE _**in**_ me, and once it was there, nothing could ever take it away. And as for those adventures, my God I hope they keep coming!

George put his speech back into his pocket and made another forkful of his dinner, wanting to avoid pressuring them to react, to give feedback.

William and Julia looked at each other, her signaling that it was William who should say something.

William also scooped up the last bit of his meal, delaying, thinking, searching for what to say. He was grateful for having been better prepared to respond to George by their conversation earlier. William left his fork ready on his plate. He focused on George, starting with, "I could not be more honored, George, and grateful to know how important to you our relationship has been – and still is." William took a deep breath and continued, "And I can tell from what you said, that you know that I feel much the same way about you…" He lifted his fork, "Truthfully," he said, nodding in recognition, "You inspire me as well," finishing by taking his bite of food, hinting that he was done.

George knew the man well. He changed the subject, turning his eyes to Julia. "Doctor, has the detective had a chance to tell you much about our latest case?"

"No, not really," she replied. "Although I did see the victim – William asked me to make a mold of the stab wound to help identify the type of weapon used," she added.

George had noticed he had much more food left than the others, an unfortunate effect of reading his speech. He was hurrying a bit to catch up. "What did you think?" he asked, hoping to engage her in talking more.

"The woman was quite beautiful," she said. Julia looked at William, "Married?" she asked.

"Mm-hmm," the detective said. "It seems she was here searching for her husband who had gone missing … for quite some time. His last letter to her was from July," he explained.

George was nearly finished with his plate. He swallowed and said, "I must say, I fear we will find that her husband is dead."

William sighed, drawing their attention. "I think what I dread most is if we find him, and he is not," he said. Another sigh announced William's strong emotion. He dropped his eyes down to his own wedding ring, fiddling with it as he said, "I shudder to think of having to tell the man that his young son had died, and then his wife had died too, was killed, trying to find him."

Julia placed her hand over his. "Yes William, that would be awful," she agreed.

The conversation paused, the brief moment of silence signifying the intensity of their feelings. William placed his other hand over Julia's. He took a deep breath and moved on. He found her face, warming her with his big, brown eyes and his handsome gaze. "Something sweet?" he asked.

Oh, she would tease him, giving him the smallest glimpse of a sly smile with which to prepare. "Perhaps something warm, with spicy tamarind and sweet chocolate?" she suggested.

Instantly, William's heart pounded in his chest. _He so wanted to share something warm, and spicy, and sweet with his delicious wife – Something other than dessert!_ One part of his brain raced through memories and images of making love to her, collapsing and charging him with immediate feelings of luscious spinning in his head and an urgent surge in his groin – while another part of his brain raced to fight the panic of coping with his mistakes with the waitress just a few days ago, and his current solutions with this waitress here today. He cleared his throat, not wanting to show the power of his reaction to her teasing with a scratchy voice. "Such indulgences may be best shared in private," he proposed, "Being among treasured pleasures for only you and me."

George, of course looked on, feeling the heat of the double entendres, possibly even the triple entendres, in this case. Again conflict stirred within him. Watch, listen in – truth be told, enjoy… Or turn away, yielding to politeness. Startled to once again find himself in this predicament for such behavior was unlike the detective, he mostly just felt the urge to get out. At first he poked and fidgeted with the food on his plate, grateful there was still some remaining. Then, stopping their romantic play, George pretended to take their conversation at face-value, as if they really were just discussing dessert. "I believe that there are some wonderful Indian desserts," he diverted. "I saw them on the menu. There was something called, "ghevar," I think – it was made of fried dough and syrup," he rambled on.

Taking his hand off of Julia's with a sigh, William said, "The ice cream looked good."

Later, William got up to pay the bill, leaving George and Julia alone to talk. As soon as he was out of hearing range, George leaned towards Julia and commented, "The detective is sure doting on you tonight, doctor," surprising even himself with the directness of his own remark.

Not quite expecting George to outwardly mention it, she had to admit that her husband was being particularly demonstrative this evening, especially considering where they were. Her own sarcastic voice chided in her head, " _The man knows what's good for him."_ She smiled and replied, "Do you think so?"

"Oh yes," George replied gleefully. "Perhaps I should be honored that he feels comfortable enough around me to do so. Err, uh … What I mean is, um, well I'm quite sure he shows his fondness for you at home…" George couldn't help but think of the parrot uttering his passionate cries, pleading for, " _William not to stop._ " The contradiction battled within him, between his guilt for being so voyeuristic, peering as it were into their bedroom, tugged and balanced against his great happiness in being shown how very much his friends enjoyed each other's love.

Knowing William's uncharacteristic behavior was at least in part an effort to repair his wandering eyes from the night of George's Awards Dinner, Julia found herself once again pondering about how common it was for women to behave seductively with him, suspecting it was likely even worse when she was not around. " _George would know!"_ she thought. The question was out of her mouth before she considered asking it, "Is William often on the receiving end of flirtatious females?"

Quickly she got over her shock at her own impulsive behavior as she watched the constable squirm around, thus revealing the answer.

"Uh, well doctor…" he said, grabbing his tie, smoothing it down, "Err…" he added, straightening his napkin on the table. George took a deep breath, calming himself down. He looked her in the eye. His lips clamped together with the recognition that he had already given her the truth. Reassuringly he said, "Dr. Ogden, Detective Murdoch is wholly devoted to you. Certainly you know that."

She smiled warmly, "I do, George," she replied. Curiosity, authentic and genuine wonder, covered her face as she asked, "But how does he handle it – when I am not there?"

George tapped his fingers on the table, thinking for a moment. His eyes turned back to her, "Mostly it seems he doesn't notice their attentions. It's like he truly cannot tell that they are flirting with him." He paused, then smiled, answering her next question, "And if he does notice? Well… he stops, kind of gets stuck for a moment. He looks away. He seems to find it to be a nuisance, really. He gets annoyed…" George paused and then went on to explain, "It can throw him off the trail – err, of the investigation, I mean. He seems to have to work to get himself back on track."

George's eyes drifted across the restaurant to where the detective was speaking with the owner. Julia's eyes followed. Julia sighed and said, "That sounds like our detective, doesn't it constable – it is almost always about the case, hmm?" She leaned closer to George and gave out a conspiratorial giggle.

"You know him well, doctor," George agreed, joining her with a chuckle.

The conversation lagged before Julia observed, "I would not be surprised to learn that the owner of this establishment is apologizing for the waitress' inappropriate behavior. He looks quite conciliatory, don't you agree?"

George nearly whispered, "I suppose she must have told the owner herself. I can't see Detective Murdoch bringing it up."

"True," she agreed.

Julia's mind drifted back to George's speech. The psychiatrist in her was intrigued. "George," she asked, "How do you think you and the detective ended up being so similar – as you say in your speech? Realizing she had thrown him off-guard she added, "You should know that I wholeheartedly agree with you. You both strive to do what is right above all else. It is quite an admirable characteristic."

George brought his hand to his mouth, focusing intently on her question. He needed time to think. "Of course I don't totally know," he started. He took a deep breath and said, "Maybe it is because we both had to make our own way in the world – without fathers…"

Julia almost gasped with the spark of discovery. "That's right, George," she declared. "William's father left him with an aunt when he was only eight years old, and you never knew your father at all," she explained. " _Becoming a man with no one to guide you must be so hard_ ," she considered.

George spoke his thoughts, "I think you should know, doctor… Because you are about to become a mother, and your child might be a boy. Well, I think it is something quite special, the relationship between a boy and his father. Now, I don't know. Maybe it's the same with girls and mothers, but men have it different in this world. I'm not saying it's harder for men than it is for women. As a matter of fact, I'm pretty sure it's not. But a man just seems to be more – alone. And even though it is unfair that men have more power than women, having that power makes you responsible. It seems to be so very important to use that power fairly, in a way that benefits the world. And learning how to do that without a father… Well…"

Julia didn't know why, but she felt herself choking up. She saw it so clearly, the struggle, now. She remembered William telling her about his fears about not being a good father, and how they were stirred by his own father's poor skills and addiction to alcohol, and then his virtually being fatherless after his mother had died as well. The emotions were so much more poignant now.

William turned and started back towards the table.

Julia looked firmly into George's eyes; certain he saw how much his words had affected her. "Thank you, George," she said, "You have helped me see." Her hand covered her belly. She had never been so conscious of how grateful she was that her child would be fathered by a man like William Murdoch.

William offered Julia his arm, "Shall we go?" he asked.

"Well, this is the last of them," William said to Julia as he closed the front door of their new house behind him with his foot. He placed the box down on the table in the foyer and took his wife into his arms. "Welcome to our new home, Mrs. Murdoch," he said before taking her in a kiss.

Julia felt her urges stir astoundingly quickly. "So many new places to discover…" she said as she backed her husband into the nearest wall. She delighted in the soft 'thud' created when his back hit the solid surface, stopping their progression. Her fingers glided along his shirt, hunting for the top button while her mouth pressed against him, hungry, wanting to taste. "So many nooks and crannies in which to…" she kissed him deeply again, he so willingly opening himself to her, she already undoing his third button, "…explore," she changed the angle of their kiss.

William's whole body tingled, charged with the need to be closer to her. He had let his mind rush, swirling and spinning with images of making love to her, so very, very forcefully. Wanting to push into her harder, he reversed their positions, lifting her up and then pinning her against the wall. His kiss was demanding, urgent. Her moan into his mouth, being stifled, alluded to her helplessness. Out of breath, he broke off the kiss to whisper in her ear. His breath was hot and hurried as it flowed over her skin, "Perhaps in a secret passageway," he said.

" _Oh my God,_ " the thought floored her. The two of them hidden, tucked away in the dark, moving and writhing together in a rhythm only they knew. Her head spun deliciously out of control. Her womb coiled tight, twisting lustfully, with such exquisite pleasure. She had opened his shirt. Her hands slipped inside. " _Darn undershirt_ ," she thought as her fingers marveled, squeezing into his mouthwatering muscles under the soft, cottony fabric. "I hope you remembered your weights," she declared, her voice raspy with need, the moment he released her from his kiss.

"Mm-hmm," he replied, his mouth now busy with her neck.

She had managed to untuck his undershirt from his trousers, and she moaned desperately once her fingers touched the warm skin of his gently rippled stomach. Sliding her hands up over his pectoral muscles under the shirt, she felt him push against her. " _My God_ ," her brain twirled away when she felt his solid, undeniable want for her. Losing the ability to speak, drowning in the scrumptious feelings of lust, she rushed to say, her voice now so dry and thirsty it scratched, "Thank you for the weights!" she declared as she stroked over his chest muscles and up to his shoulders, melting as her knees seemed to buckle away when he chuckled at her comment in her ear.

Unsure they would make it into one of the secret passageways he had designed into the house, William was fighting to remember where the nearest one was. It hit him hard and fast, "The dining room!" he said, grabbing her hand and dragging her off that way.

Before Julia could even remember to try record the spot, and the way to open it, he had pulled her inside the dark crevice and closed the door shut. It was dark, but not pitch-black. The passageway was narrow – barely allowing them to fit together, Julia tightly pressed against the back wall, despite her larger, pregnant state. Both breathing heavily, the short trip had served to remind them that it would be Plan C, not what they each had been imagining during the build-up because of Dr. Tash's warnings about protecting the baby. It seemed to be a race to get the other undressed – challenging to say the least in these confined, dark quarters. An elbow or a head here and there banged against the wall, prompting William to remark that if they ever needed to use the secret passageways to hide or escape, they had best not try to make love in the process. Of course, he had not even mentioned the problem of Julia's delicious, lively, and roaring moans and cries when in the throes of passion.

They made hot-blooded, fiery love to each other, there in the hidden-away secrecy of the dining room's concealed passageway. Still whirling with the sweet feelings of complete ecstasy, they stood tangled together in the dark, sweating and puffing, the tight space serving to amplify the sounds of their recovery as William spread succulent kisses all over Julia's face, and her neck, and her ear, and her neck, and her chin, and her ear again.

She swallowed in an effort to be able to produce a sound, and then whispered to him in their secret dark in the middle of the day, "Husband,"

"Mm?" he asked, continuing to shower and flutter her with kisses.

She squeezed him tight and he kissed at the smile as it grew on her face. "You are so yummy," she giggled.

He slid his hands up her neck, grasping her head firmly, his fingers tangling into her hair. His breath was still hot as it surged and cascaded down her skin. His mouth seized her earlobe, nibbling. "Mm," he responded.

Julia's mind played, enjoying the softening spin as their heartbeats slowed together. " _William is so yummy,"_ she thought. She started to giggle, before she had even said his new nickname out loud, picturing his outrage. She felt him release her flesh, her earlobe instantly wanting him back, and tuck his face lower and take a hold of her neck. He sucked on her so deliciously, she was momentarily distracted.

Julia inhaled deeply, pushing past the lovely torture of his afterglow attentions. "Willyummy," she declared gleefully. He let go of her neck – he was getting ready to react! She gave him a playful shove. "I like it!" she exclaimed.

As much as was possible in the narrow passageway, he had stepped back, trying to give her a dirty look.

She charged on, "You are William, and you are yummy. Willyummy!"

" _Oh, that will not do_ ," he thought. "There is absolutely no way… Julia," he objected.

"What is it, Willyummy? Lots of wives have little pet-names for their husbands," she argued.

He couldn't see it in the dark, but he knew the look on her face. She was having quite a bit of fun with this game, and if he had any chance of stopping it… He tried once more, stating categorically, "Julia, I vehemently oppose to your calling me… I am unwilling to even say it."

Julia nearly bent over with laughter. "William," she cried. "I mean, Willyummy," she blurted out as she fell apart.

He took a deep breath. A different approach was clearly necessary. His brain raced, for he would have to beat her at her own game. " _Jul-yucky – no… Maybe a rhyme, Julia and peculiar, Jeculia – no… Something about her sexy body maybe, jiggly bosom, Jigulia – no…"_ he tried. Then a thought jumped! " _Jello! Of course, jiggly Jello! Jellia!_ " he trumpeted in his head. " _She will hate it!_ " his brain declared.

Proper implementation of his plan was essential. He stepped back closely to her. "Julia," he said, taking her back into his arms and returning to devour her neck.

Being a wise woman, Julia recognized his tactics. For the sheer fun of it she decided to play along. Breathlessly, for she truly was enticed once again by his attentions, she replied, "Yes." His hands moved up her ribs, settling around her bosom. It took much effort on her part not to gasp or moan. " _Lovely_ ," she thought. There was no denying it, she was becoming aroused again.

It was difficult in the compact, tight quarters of the dark, secret passageway, but William lowered himself to the height of her bosom, fitting snugly between the wall behind him and his beautiful wife's pregnant belly. A fleeting image whooshed through his brain, of the time he had strained to hold a similar position when he and Julia were trying to determine the height of a murderer who had wielded a shovel and hit the victim in the head with it. They had been using watermelons. She had teased him about having strong enough thighs to hold the position for long. " _I'm glad I kept up the bicycling_ ," he thought. He squeezed her delectable, spongy bosom and then kissed at the supple flesh.

Unavoidable, inescapable, she could not contain the flush of the twisty pleasure that threatened to rupture her womb, the sound of the flood breaching her throat. "Mmm... Please William," she moaned.

"Not Willyummy?" he questioned, a tone of mischief suddenly flaring and clouding the air.

Julia tried to cope, backpedaling as quickly as she could to untangle from her lust, while her brain warned that there would be incoming jabs. Her head dropped back into a wall. Winded, she pleaded, "William, please." From nestled within her enticingly heaving, moldable bosom, she felt the smile grow on his face.

He spoke softly, for they were so close and secluded in the narrow passageway, his voice beaming up from between her breasts. "You too, are quite delicious," he started. "And so tantalizingly jiggly," he went on, wiggling and massaging her bosom within his hands. "Like Jello…" his voice rose in anticipation, prompting her to hold her breath, "… my Jellia." Slowly he rose up to place his mouth near her ear. "Oh, you heard me right. My pet-name for you, Jellia," he teased, burying his gleefully chuckling in her neck.

"William Murdoch!" she scolded, pushing at his chest. "You scoundrel! I abhor it!" she declared.

William stepped to the side, giving her more room. He reached for the door, hesitating to determine if she had acquiesced to his bribe.

"All right, all right. You win. No pet-names," she gave in with a tender giggle.

Pushing his luck he added, "I require a promise, that you will never utter that nickname again," opening the tiniest crack in the door, sending a thin beam of light across his face and his naked body.

Julia's eyes tracked the light-beam, finding the small handle to the door. She stepped close to him, taking his free hand and bringing it behind her to lay on a cheek of her buttocks, then she wrapped an arm around his neck while her other hand covered his on the door handle. She pulled them back into darkness as she whispered in his ear, "On one condition." Just seconds later there was a soft 'thud' against the wall.

That night, upstairs in their bedroom, the couple had nestled together and fallen asleep tired from a long day of moving and unpacking. So easily she had come to feel comfortable in their new home, that now Julia found she was not at all disoriented when she awoke in the middle of the night, awakening for the very first time in their new bed. However, a twinge of concern startled her when she realized that William was not there. Immediately she began working to appease her fears. _He probably just went downstairs. Maybe he had a bad dream, or couldn't sleep._ Dressed in her pajamas, the late November air felt chilly as she stepped out from under the covers, prompting her to put on her robe as well.

Rounding the corner on the staircase, she saw the warm, soft light glowing from below – " _most likely the kitchen_ ," she thought. It calmed her. _He was there_. She found him, sitting at the kitchen table. He had made a cup of hot chocolate. Their eyes met across the room. He smiled, and then his lips clamped together and he tilted his head. " _Trouble sleeping_ ," she decided. She joined him, sitting in the chair next to him just around the corner of the table.

Her eyes dropped down to the cup in his hand. It was still quite full. She slid her hand over his on the cup, finding the warmth soothing. "It looks good," she said. "May I?" she asked as her finger slipped into the round handle, smoothly replacing his.

He nodded, "Of course," he said.

She lifted the cup and took a sip, truly enjoying the warm, creamy sweet liquid. She felt it in her chest as the thought crossed her mind, " _Dear Lord, she so loved this man."_ She marveled at it, the feeling glowing inside of her. There was nothing else in the world like it, so powerful, the luscious heat of it; it was so completely and utterly delightful. She found when she exhaled it served to magnify the feeling even more, such a profound and fulfilling sense of love. And when she looked into his eyes, her spirit simply soared with the expansion of it. She brought the cup back to its place in front of him on the table, but left her fingers entwined around it, basking in the comforting warmth. William wrapped his fingers around the other side of the cup, sharing in it.

" _He will need a little prompting_ ," she thought, measuring his reluctance to speak. "It turns out we get to share a warm, delectable chocolate dessert after all," she nudged. "All we are missing is the tamarind," she added. Her chuckle was cozy, and her efforts were rewarded as he joined in. Their thoughts returned to the restaurant from yesterday evening. The flirting waitress… George… And then when they had returned for their last night in the Windsor House Hotel.

Julia giggled, remembering the moment that they heard the parrot imitating the sounds of Julia's cries during their lovemaking, from the stairs on the second floor. Suddenly the unfounded noise complaints all made sense! The parrot was the actual culprit!

William's expression wondered at her briefly, before he imagined he knew where her thoughts had taken her. He heard the hotel clerk in his mind once more, " _You are Detective_ _ **WILLIAM**_ _Murdoch, are you not?_ " surging him into more rowdy laughter. Trying to sound like the clerk, when the man had read the quotes from one of the noise complaints, William pulled his pretend glasses down on his nose and held his pretend noise complaint up in the air, and "read," keeping his voice flat and lacking in any emotion, "Please William please. Oh my God, William…" he continued pretending to read the complaint, "Don't stop William, please. Oh..." he fell into laughter, completely plunged there by Julia's hearty fellow collapse, quickly returning to sit up straight and he tried to continue, "Oh," before falling apart again. It was delicious; tears filled their eyes.

Recovering a few moments later, William wiped his eyes and said, "I suppose George had to have heard all of that from the bird first thing that morning – before he even knocked on the door to take me to the scene where the body was found."

"It seems very likely," Julia agreed.

It lulled… Mentioning the body had done it. Julia took another sip of hot chocolate, then William took another sip as well. He placed the nearly empty cup down on the table.

William took Julia's hand – focused his attention on her wedding rings, lovingly caressing them, watching the undeniable sight of seeing his rings on her finger, and … He took a deep breath. He would tell her now, why they were here in the middle of the night.

"The victim today… Ieva," he felt Julia move closer, "I couldn't get her wedding ring out of my mind," he said. "She had a husband somewhere," William said, his eyes touching hers briefly before dropping back to her rings again. He reached up, rubbed his brow. "I think they were very much in love," he said, sighing and bringing his eyes to hers once more. "And I wonder how horrible things must have been for them, how desperate their lives were, for him to leave her – and their little, beautiful son…"

Julia cupped his cheek, slipped her fingers into his hair. "You identify with them," she stated.

He gave her his, "I admit it," face, the look also admitting that he was aware that a good detective knows that too much empathy with a victim clouds the judgment. Much happened in his mind in the next moments, while she held his eyes with her deep, compassionate blue ones.

He thought about how, when he let himself, or really it was more like when he couldn't stop himself from, imagining what it would feel like if Julia lost their baby – not even born yet, and still the pain threatened to collapse him… How much worse would it be if the child had been born? Their son… William was able to stop the thought, but so quickly another filled the void, with one that felt to be the point of no return for him. The devastation and utter despair that happened to him, so very deeply that it reached down into his soul, wrenching it out of him, leaving him alone and crumbled, the wounds surely fatal, but leaving him destined to bear their torture, that accompanied imagining that Julia had been killed, and even worse, that she had been killed trying to get to him, that desperation enveloped him.

He tried to inhale, his lungs frozen with anguish. His eyes grew wider, looking to her like fear. She leaned to him and said, her voice barely above a whisper, ensuring he knew she was close, "Breathe William – then tell me." She stayed there, holding his head in her hands, her face near his cheek, her breath warm and present, waiting with him…

Still not yet, she kissed his cheek…

Instantly, she heard him open and take in the needed air. He reached up to find her hands and brought them down to hold them in his on the table, and he found her eyes once more, as he exhaled, the warm air passing over his troubled heart, seemingly doubling the ache. Pushing himself for courage, he glanced away, then bravely looked back, explaining, "I do not believe I could bear it if those things happened to us… to me." His eyes welled with the emotion.

Julia placed a hand under his cheek, glanced and traced his lips briefly with her thumb. "I would want you to go on, William. I would hope that you could," she said. Julia heard her voice crack, the feelings rising within her as well, consuming her strength but not her love, as she added, "I would want you to be happy." William blinked, freeing a tear from behind his lashes to be scooped up by her thumb, and brushed away, before she kissed his cheek once more. "I love you so," she whispered.

He fought through the knot in his throat and replied, "I know… and I would miss it."

"Yes, you would," she said, moving back, taking a deep breath, regaining control. She had been there, so many times, imagining living without him seeming unfathomable once buried under the grief and the pain. She only ever found one way out of the torment– and that was to be in the here and now, and to be so very grateful that they were together. She would offer it to him… But he got there himself before she could.

He leaned over across the corner of the table and swept her into a hug. "Thank God you are here with me," he said, his face buried in her hair. "We are together. We are well. We are going to have a baby. Thank God," he said.

"Yes," she cried into his ear.

He took a deep breath, pulled back. "There but for the grace of God go I," he said.

Julia thanked William's God that he had his faith. But she also awed at William's authentic way of knowing that every single human was just as valuable as the next, and thus he truly could see himself in anyone. His heart was so… good. And my God, she loved him with every fiber of her being.

William sighed. He was much calmer now, settled, more at ease. He swallowed, and his fingers reached up and rubbed his forehead. There was more.

"What is it, William?" she asked.

Again a quick glance away, gathering his thoughts. "They were immigrants, Julia. They came to this country full of hope for a chance to make their lives better. They probably had little money, couldn't speak the language, didn't know the ways. All they had was each other and their courage and their grit…" William said, going back to rub his forehead, "And yet, we sit here, you and I, in this beautiful house, with all of those advantages…"

 _Oh, she saw it – guilt! A sense of undeserved privilege battered at his self-image._

"William Murdoch," she said. "You are a good man, with the most amazingly good heart I have ever known. You would be so if you were rich or if you were poor, if you had power or if you did not, if you were fortunate or if you were not," she insisted. "I swear, that's why I love you," she beamed with the promise.

Such joy filled her as she saw him hear her words, and know they were true. She picked up the cup of hot chocolate. "Last sip," she said, "May I?"

He nodded. She drank. She started to get up to clean the cup, but he stopped her. "Let me," he said, taking the cup to the sink, rinsing it and the pan and putting them both into the dishwashing cupboard. He saw, out of the corner of his eye, that she got up and walked behind him. He exhaled with pleasure as she wrapped her arms around him from behind, hugging him as close as possible considering her enlarged belly. Soft kisses on his neck, warm breath flowing over him, they were safe and happy and at home.

"BUMP," it knocked against his back! It was the baby!

"Did you feel that?" she asked as he turned around and his shimmering eyes met hers.

"I did," he answered, placing his hand over her belly, so hopeful that he would feel it again.

"BUMP, and ROLL," the baby offered, causing its parents to gasp with glee.

William exclaimed, "You could actually see the baby move!"

"Yes," Julia declared, her eyes shining with delight and her head nodding in happy agreement. They both breathed contentedly, and then Julia cupped his cheek once more and wrapped her arms around his neck to take him into a hug.

The similarity of the movement to another time from the past sparked a memory within William. He half expected to hear the metallic click as their bodies touched, like had happened when they hugged good-bye in the carriage, when she was getting ready to leave for Buffalo, and her locket got stuck to his badge.

So quickly, invasively, from this morning, he saw in his mind's eye Ieva's opened locket on the dead woman's chest.

"Julia," he asked, "Do you still have the locket you were wearing…" he broke their embrace, "the one that became magnetized to my badge. Do you remember?"

 _Oh, she did. She would never, ever forget it._ "I believe so," she replied. She took his hand. "I think I know where it is… since we have been doing all of this packing," she said, switching off the kitchen light and leading him upstairs.

On the way to the bedroom she told him… That the moment their locket and badge had clicked together, she felt something inside of her, so specifically… it was in the bones of her chest where the ribs meet the sternum… and she felt something snap into place with the sound. And she knew in her heart then, that they were meant to be together. She knew it in her bones, in every cell of her body, down to her very essence, to her soul. But, she had been stubborn, so certain her brain had figured it right, and that she should leave him.

Once in the bedroom, she turned on a lamp and began searching through some boxes in the closet. She continued talking, telling him that she had never worn the locket after that day. And that she had stored it away, where she kept special things. She had become particularly worried that Darcy would find it. She reminded William that there was a terrible time in her marriage to Darcy during which he was cutting out stories and pictures of William in their newspaper in an effort to control her, to stop her from loving William. But of course, such a thing was impossible.

William asked if she had a picture of him in the locket, his voice coming to her somewhat muffled as her head was in the closet and her back was to him while she was bent over, finally opening the right box.

Suddenly she pictured William standing behind her – and she knew! "William Murdoch!" her voice challenged from within the closet. "Are you ogling my derriere!?" she exclaimed. She was certain he was.

William clamped his lips together and tilted his head to the side. It seemed pointless to deny it. "I am," he stated.

Julia humphed, " _All men are dogs_ ," she reminded herself, but then weakened and accepted her absolute lustful happiness to know he found her to be irresistibly arousing, well her backside at least.

He continued, "It seems it has not been affected by the pregnancy," he observed.

She rolled her eyes. Now having the locket in her fingers, she stood and turned to face him, his sheepish look bringing her to giggle. "I found it," she said as she held the locket up into the warm, yellow light.

They stood together as she opened it, the technical part of William making note of where she was leaving fingermarks as she did so. Inside there were two black and white pictures, one on each half of the locket. When it was closed, William's face and Julia's face would have been touching, almost as if in a kiss. She handed the open locket to William.

"I don't remember ever having this picture taken," he said as he examined it closer. He liked the photo. He had a genuine smile in it, no hat, and he was quite a bit younger. It was so lovely, next to hers.

"You probably wouldn't," she explained, "It was from the newspaper – from after you got back from Bristol. Reporters had completely surrounded you and barraged you with excited questions about saving the Queen."

"You cut it out?" he asked.

She nodded.

"And put it in here – with yours?" he asked.

She nodded.

"You never told me?" he asked.

There was the slightest blush to her face. "No," she answered, "I didn't."

He stood before her, shaking his head ever so slightly, wondering why.

Julia's voice rose high in a stressed squeak, "Oh William… I was so head over heels in love with you. I felt out-of-control, wild crazy in love with you. And it felt… well… of course, it felt wonderful, but still, I didn't know if you felt the same way or not, and well, I had _**not**_ the slightest inkling that it could be possible that I might feel the same way now, so many years later. And…" Julia stopped suddenly. Shame stole her face, having emerged so quickly before she had found the words with the thought that it surprised her, seeming to knock the breath out of her. She dropped her eyes away from his in a rush.

"Julia?" William asked, concerned, but with such compassion it served to help her.

She reminded herself that she had already told him this, " _thank goodness,_ " because of their sharing of their writings in their journals – that he already knew.

Boldly, she pushed the shame aside, finding it was accompanied by fear and guilt, both of which she had already confronted as well. "I already told you," she said, now brave enough to regain eye-contact with him, "But I… I knew that I could not have a baby, that with me, _**you**_ could not have a baby, and I felt so guilty about not telling you, and so afraid of your leaving me when you found out, and so ashamed of what you would think of me when you found out, and I couldn't wholly love you or tell you how much I loved you, with all of that."

He closed the locket, imagining their kiss nestled inside with the click. He took a deep breath and then lifted his arms to slip it over her head. It settled just above her cleavage, looking beautiful as she stood there with him in the middle of the night in her nightgown and robe. His fingers slid under her chin and lifted her face to meet his. He kissed her, soft and slow.

The kiss did not last long, and when it broke off Julia stepped back. She clasped the locket, rubbing it fondly between her fingers. "I don't know why I wore it that night. I never understood why I would do that?" she wondered.

William smiled. There was the slightest hint of teasing when he replied, for he knew he would be giving her a taste of her own medicine, "Perhaps it was your _sub-conscious_ , trying to tell you what your heart wanted to say."

" _That's probably it, of course,_ " she thought. "My Goodness, William Henry Murdoch," she complained and admired, "Must you be brilliant in everything – even psychiatry now?"

Her husband puffed up with a cocky air and gave her a little shrug, spurring her to want to smack him and dive into his arms at the same time. The dive won.

Locked together, the locket tucked between their chests, just above their growing baby in her womb, and with their wedding rings wrapped around their fingers, they were left once again with beauty of their love, through both hardships and good fortune, and they would live their lives, grateful, appreciating and treasuring every precious moment, as long as they both should live (and probably even longer).


	5. Chapter 5Getting HookedT

Murdoch in the Jungle_Getting Hooked

Fortunately, it was still dark when William awakened. It was early December, and he knew sunrise would accompany his trip to the stationhouse, that is if he were not late. Lying still and quiet in the dark, in their new bed, in their new house, next to his beautiful wife, he chuckled to himself as he imagined the ribbing he so commonly received from the Inspector, and even an occasional constable, for being late _**now that he was a married man**_. The teasing always had an air of sexual innuendo which served to render him both embarrassed and proud. There was one undeniable fact though, he was immensely happy.

 _The alarm had not yet rung_ , he thought, _so they had at least a little bit of time until they had to get up._ As he rolled under the covers to move closer to Julia, the feel of his naked skin as it slipped along the gentle fabric of the sheets reminded him that they were both naked, for they had made love to each other before falling asleep last night. His eyes had adjusted somewhat to the dark, and he could make out her figure as she lay sleeping. She was on her side, facing away from him, her broad hips curving high above the rest of her. " _Spooning it will be_ ," he thought gleefully.

She felt him, his sweet presence warming her. " _A dream?"_ she thought. A smile formed on her face as he melted in closer, his breath at her ear, his sturdy hand and rugged arm across her belly – embracing both her and their child, his firm body and smooth skin sliding along her backside. "Mmm," she moaned.

"Mmm, indeed," his perfectly-tuned voice vibrated in her ear, then penetrated deeper, touching a chord.

Soft kisses as his hand glided across her, moving up to find the luscious place between the curves of her bosom… his breath flared and cascaded over her… his mouth captured her ear. He discovered the locket nestled there. His fingers grasped the locket, treasuring it. Such beautiful images flowed through her mind, of their secret photographs tucked away together, face-to-face, inside the locket, and the memory of him placing it around her neck, taking her chin with his fingers, lifting her face to his, and such a delicious kiss. The love glowing inside of her threatened to bloom, so quickly it almost ached.

"William," she said, her voice still sleepy, the utterance shaped by her large smile. Soon, he would roll her over onto her back, and their kissing would grow more passionate. In anticipation, she already felt her womb tightening with lust.

"Mm-hmm," his warm breath flooded over her as his mouth nuzzled into her neck.

She opened to him, giving him deeper access. His lips wide around her skin, then his tongue, " _My God, so soft,_ " and he sucked her in, rough and greedy, and her head spun with the delight of it. Rolling her onto her back, she felt his hand securely cover her swollen belly.

His mouth released her tortured flesh, "I'll keep the baby safe," he reassured, and then he was over her, his weight pushing heavy into her chest, his bare knee sliding over the sensitive, lower spot. His mouth devoured her face, piece-by-piece, ravenous and sensuous with lustful need.

"I want you," she promised into his ear, then taking his earlobe into her mouth as she so wished she could take him in completely, drowning him, throbbing with yearning for his scrumptious taste.

"Then you shall have me," he whispered as he began his torture, kissing, and nibbling and slurping down her body – lower, and lower, and lower, until his breath hovered, and she soared to such heights that there was no air, helpless against the impending fall that would come when he finally touched her.

" _He's pushing… my thigh… My God_ …" the thoughts spiraled away. "William, please," she begged.

Her familiar scent tugged at him. " _Slow down_ ," he reminded. He pushed her thighs wider apart. His heart raced so. "Mmm," his hot breath poured over her, before the delectable, warm, pressure brought heaven to Earth, or Earth to heaven – it was hard to tell.

The bed sheets suffered her wrath, as she hung on for dear life and pleasure engulfed her. Their rhythm pumped, hypnotic and entrancing, wild and deeply primitive, hurling her over the edge. The subtlest gasp announced ecstasy's inevitability, before robust wave, after wave, after wave, of delight gushed through her.

Quiet now, the luring beat of her labored breathing called him back up to enclose her in his arms and shower her face with kisses. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her husband covered her, keeping her safe as she spun recovering and vulnerable.

"William," she whispered. "My God, I love you," she said. She would show him how much – in a moment. For now she still needed him to love her, and hold her, and promise to never, ever let her go.

By the time the alarm went off, the couple lay cuddled together, contented and melty-soft, sharing in their profound love for the tiny baby in Julia's womb, their Susana or William Jr.

"It's time," William said with a sigh as he rolled over and shutoff the alarm.

Riding the wave of his movement as he stretched to reach and hush the tolling ring, she waited for him to come back. It was time, but they weren't ready to move apart – not yet. Julia slid her thigh over him as she nestled her head into her favorite spot on his chest, the baby inside of her now laying warm over his belly. She cherished the muscles of his chest with her fingers, pleasing them both.

The smells of Eloise's cooking from downstairs melded with the muffled clanking sounds of utensils against pots, reminding that today was her first day working for them, and that William had to go to work, and the enticing aromas prompted Julia's stomach to growl so loudly with hunger that it seemed to startle the baby into a powerful kick, which pounded against both mother and father, bursting its parents into joyful giggles.

# # # # # # # # # #

William took Julia's arm at the bottom of the stairs and they headed for the kitchen. They each saw it at the exact same moment, halting in their tracks. Their eyes met, wide and worried.

"Oh my!" Julia declared.

"Indeed," William answered.

There was a fluffy, thick layer of soapsuds all over the kitchen floor. Eloise had taken the approach of ignoring the problem. Thus, the older woman worked away lavishly preparing their breakfast, her back to the couple, her shoes and ankles cloaked by the cottony-white suds, rising from the floor like a dense mist.

William took a deep breath – it was _almost_ the first Monday he had not been late for quite some time. He cleared his throat, alerting Eloise to their presence.

Julia spoke first, as the woman turned from the stove to face them. "My goodness, Eloise," she declared, "What an exciting first day!"

William and Julia made their way into the kitchen, Julia holding up her skirt, to what would be considered a somewhat scandalous height in other circumstances. William hesitated at the boundary between soap-covered shoes and not. The bottoms of his trousers would likely get covered too. He would be even later in arriving to the stationhouse – he would need to change. He sighed and removed his shoes, and stepped in. This was his mess to fix. He had best get to it.

Wearing a frown that bordered on a pout, the expression reminding both women of that of a little boy with broken toy, William walked over to the dishwashing cupboard. All along the edge of the appliance, there was a dried, soapy scum. He sighed and glanced sideways at Julia, who couldn't help herself but fall into laughter. Quickly, William's eyes darted over to Eloise, who barely managed to turn away, her hand rushing to cover her mouth, her eyes dancing with laughter above her hand, giving away her stifled giggling.

"Oh William!" Julia cried, then giggled some more. She playfully kicked some of the fluffy suds into the air.

Eloise had regained her composure and comforted, "Don't worry detective, I will clean it up after you and the doctor have eaten breakfast."

Sighing again with disappointment he said, "Perhaps I have the water coming in too fast… Or the drain is not large enough…"

Julia took his hand and pulled him towards the table. "I do believe I have a better idea about what is wrong, husband," she claimed.

Allowing himself to be led, "Oh?" he asked skeptically.

He pulled out her chair for her and held her arm as she sat, not only acting as a gentleman, but also as the father of the child that was currently rendering her sitting, and particularly standing, so difficult. He took his seat and Eloise served them. Not yet knowing the detective's preferences, but having worked for the doctor for a very long time in the past, she had prepared coffee, for the doctor, and tea. William preferred tea.

He looked so pleased as she brought him the small pot. "How did you know, Eloise?" he asked.

"I didn't detective," she replied, hiding her smile, "But I do now." Eloise made every effort to present herself as professional, and thus non-emotional, but she had always liked him. Of course, he had no way of knowing she felt this way, and she had no right to her opinions in the matters of the doctor's love life, but she had always been in the detective's corner. Not so much because she had good feelings about the man particularly, though she had found herself enamored and trusting of him the few times they had encountered each other. No, it was more so because she could tell that the doctor was so in love with him, even though it seemed at times, especially at very important times, the doctor herself could not. Eloise had followed him in the papers, even after the doctor had gone to Buffalo, and then married Dr. Garland. She remembered her thrill when reading that the doctor and the detective had each publicly declared their love for each other, during the doctor's trial. And for the rest of her days, she would be grateful and marvel at the fact that the detective had saved the doctor from the noose.

"Well, I am very impressed," William said. He gave her a small bow, "And I thank you," he added.

He looked back to his wife. "You had an idea – about the dishwashing cupboard," he asked as he raised the teacup to his lips and his delightful brown eyes, framed in their thick lashes, twinkled at her from above the rim. The air of skepticism had passed.

Julia bounced gleefully in her seat. "I do!" she declared.

Eloise placed their plates down in front of them. She knew her mistress' favorite breakfast was French toast and bacon. Not yet knowing the detective's, she had decided to prepare the dish she was confident would be received well, at least by one of them.

"Eloise!" Julia exclaimed, "Magnificent! My favorite… you remembered."

All business, brushing the compliment aside, Eloise asked, "And you detective? Do you have a favorite dish?"

William started, "I…"

But Julia answered, "You will find that William's tastes are quite simple Eloise and that he is also happy with just about anything." She smiled at him. He nodded. "I have seen him order fried eggs, scrambled eggs, omelets, pancakes – and even French toast… It seems for breakfast his choices run the gamut."

"Very good," Eloise replied. She seemed to wait for a moment, hoping for a bit more.

Julia continued, looking to William as she said, "I can fill you in on more, later." She smiled at him and added, "But I know that coconut cream pie is a favorite dessert."

"Yes," he agreed, even the thought of the delectable treat making him happy. The lovely, deeper feeling he had, he attributed to being so well known by his wife.

"Very good," Eloise said and headed back to the stove, her feet rustling up the suds on the floor once more.

William found Julia's eyes, with the quick thought about how beautiful and blue they were sparking before he asked, "You have a solution to…" his eyes strolled the mess all over their floor, "…this?"

They shared a look, both certain they had heard Eloise chuckle.

Julia took a sip of her coffee, preparing. "I believe the problem is chemical rather than mechanical," she claimed.

"Oh?" he asked, enthusiastically taking another bite of French toast.

"As I am sure you know, soap works because one end of the molecule attracts lipids while the opposite end is attracted to water, thus separating the oil and dirt from the water," she explained, receiving a nod from him. His face showed his optimism. "Well, the added agitation and motion of the water flowing into the machine…" she paused and looked at him, "Do you suppose we will have the same problem with the laundry cupboard as well?" she asked.

"Mm-hmm," he agreed, finishing chewing and then swallowing, "Even more so."

"Well, what we need is a surfactant that will still lower the surface tension of the water but that also has no ionic charge, so the polar ends on the water molecules do not get flung about so," the doctor continued.

Eloise was listening in – it was all gobbledygook to her, but the detective truly seemed to understand. " _The man is bright_ ," she thought.

"And do you have such a compound in mind?" William asked, intrigued.

Julia smiled. Nodding first, giving her time to swallow, "I will conduct some experiments. I have some ideas," she said, _thinking of the ethoxylation of alcohols and_ … "I read an article about some uses for silicone," she said. "That might work?" she wondered aloud. She put her fork down and reached over to caress his cheek. "I will use the lab you built for me," she said, bringing a proud smile to his face.

" _My God_ ," Eloise thought shaking her head, " _It truly is a match made in heaven_."

# # # # # # # # # #

William rode his bicycle to the station, despite the fact that doing so would make him even later for work. Although it was already December, and it was cold, there had been no snow to speak of yet, and further, he enjoyed the exercise. A memory of being with Julia flashed through his mind, from when she plastered him to the wall, and then she rubbed and admired the muscles of his chest. He heard her voice, raspy with arousal, say in his head, " _Thank you for the weights,_ " prompting him to chuckle out loud in response once again as he pedaled, hurrying. " _I will have to keep up lifting the weights as well_ ," he thought. Then he remembered finding the locket nestled in her bosom this morning in the dark. Love – immense, warm and powerful – surged through him. But then, so quickly it was followed by the image of the victim, Ieva, lying dead behind the brothel, and William's own gloved hand turning over the opened locket hanging around her neck. As usual, time away from the case- with Julia – had healed him, but now… he was going back in.

His mind started to plan for the day, to work on the case. Dr. Kingsley's postmortem results would likely be on his desk – he would go over it, go over to the morgue and speak to Miss James about the post-mortem as well, as she would have been in attendance. He would need to call Kingsley too. Also, the constables likely had some preliminary results from questioning over the weekend with the victim's and her husband's photographs, and he would send them out to do more today as well.

A nauseous, anxious feeling arose in his gut as he remembered he planned to call Ettie. He pushed it aside. It was ridiculous to let concerns about Julia's jealousy interfere with his investigation. He knew Ettie posed no threat to their relationship. " _Besides_ ," he thought, " _Julia had even been the one to suggest it._ " He frowned to himself as he rolled his bicycle into the stationhouse stables, " _Albeit quite sarcastically,_ " he reminded.

As per his routine, Detective Murdoch picked up his messages at the front desk first thing upon arriving at work. He smiled as the constable at the desk handed them over, hoping to avoid drawing much attention.

The Inspector's voice bellowed across the station, "Oh look everyone, Detective Murdoch has managed to pull himself away from the lovely doctor and grace us with his presence."

William frowned as he turned to face the man standing in the bullpen. It was noticed that the detective had _not_ turned his usual red color, taking some of the fun out of the game. "Sorry I am late sir," he said.

The Inspector's mind contemplated the man's calmer reaction, " _Oh… Perhaps he and the doctor are finally cooling off_ ," he thought. Quickly he considered another possibility, " _He's not upset enough for it to have been a fight_ …"

The detective offered up an explanation, "Some of the… Well we moved into the house this weekend, sir. And there was a problem with a… um, I made a dishwashing cupboard and…"

"Oi, Murdoch! You and your inventions," the Inspector charged. "Did the contraption blow up," he teased, earning some laughter from the men. However, for the briefest moment he worried that it actually it had exploded based on the disappointment on the detective's face.

"Fortunately, it wasn't that bad," William replied. He seemed to brace himself and said, "It seems there is a problem with the amount of suds produced..."

All minds present filled with images of fluffy suds pouring out of a contraption and filling the house.

The detective added, "It required I change my pants," unintentionally sending the stationhouse into sputters of laughter – everybody somehow finding the remark alluding to the sexual act in the end after all.

Shaking his head, having had his fun, the Inspector barked, "Alright you useless bunch of scallywags, back to work!"

William reached up and rubbed his forehead. Although his crimson color was fading, it felt like his head had suddenly taken a pounding. His eyes dropped down to the messages in his hands.

It was Crabtree who managed to relieve the pressure and change the mood. "I have the results of the fingermark tests, sir," he said.

Detective Murdoch was clearly grateful to be back on track. "Wonderful, George," he said, "What have you?"

The constable started his report as he followed the detective into his office, "Well sir, the locket had some fingermarks that match the victim."

"As expected," the detective said.

George stood up taller, "Ah, but on the inside, under where one of the photos would have been, there was a mark that did not match the victim."

The detective celebrated their success with a slight knock with his fist on the desk. "And what about the garbage-pail lid?" he asked.

George's eyes lit up, "There we have something sir," he declared. "The mark on the lid and the inside of the locket match," he said. "And sir," he excitedly added, "the same mark was found on the bucket with the animal blood!"

"Likely our killer," William concluded.

"Yes, sir," George replied, "I have started comparing the mark to our records. I have Higgins on that too. No luck so far I'm afraid."

William sat, lifting Dr. Kingsley's report.

"Wouldn't it be a shame if it matched her husband?" George asked. "It is not uncommon for a woman's killer to turn out to be her husband," he explained.

William lowered the report momentarily. In his mind he saw the St. Valentine's keychain. "I don't think so this time, George. They seemed to be very much in love." William seemed to drift off, seeing in his head himself and Julia sitting at their kitchen table, sharing a warm cup of hot chocolate. " _You identify with them,_ " he heard her voice say. His eyes jumped to meet George's. "Of course, we must remain open to all possibilities," he said with a shrug.

He opened the postmortem report and seemed to begin to study it, asking, "Did the constables find anyone who recognized the victim or her husband over the weekend?"

George found his eyes, too, were drawn to the report. His voice slow to start, "The lads um…" William looked up at George. He needed the man to better focus. "Sir, no one recognized the victim or her husband at any of the brothels near where the body was found, nor where she was staying," he hurried to reply.

" _As I suspected_ ," William thought, " _not a prostitute._ "

George said, "It seems you were right sir – about the wedding ring."

"We should still keep looking – check the brothels near the docks and the Stockyards," William instructed. "Did they get to the places where the husband might have worked, at the factories and slaughterhouses?" he asked.

"Again with no luck, I'm afraid," George answered. "Oh, but young Constable Hogan noted that he had the impression a worker at Davies slaughterhouse recognized the husband when he looked at the photo… But just kept his mouth shut about it," he said rifling through the small sheets of papers in his hands.

"Did he get the worker's name?" William asked.

George found the constable's report and skimmed the notes quickly. He shook his head, "No. No sir, it seems he did not."

William settled, facing the postmortem report once more and said, "I will need to talk with Constable Hogan."

"I'll call him in," George responded. "Is there anything else, sir?" he asked.

William rubbed his head again. "George, we both think it is likely, or at least highly possible, that the husband has been killed…"

"Mm-hmm," George agreed.

"And his letters to Ieva stopped after July 15th. Let's look into deaths of men between then and now," William said, "We can narrow down the search by age. He would have been about the same age as the victim, thirty or so… Lithuanian too. And he was big," William instructed.

"Right away sir," George said taking his leave.

The detective turned his attention to the report. The postmortem showed that the damage to the surface tissues in the victim's back was extensive, and could only be made by receiving pressure delivered with extreme force. The rips and tears in the skin showed that the weapon was not sharp. The path of the wound traveled directly up into the kidney, an organ with extensive blood flow, so damaging it in such a way would be fatal and relatively quick. There was no semen present, so she had not had sex within a day or so of when she was killed. The evidence could not rule out that she was a prostitute, because there were many wounds and scars, of the type that often accompany, "sex play," as he tended to call it.

William considered whether they could have been made by Ieva's husband, hoping not. He checked to see if the report said whether they were from longer ago than three or four years, the age of the boy in the picture on her shrine in her room. It turned out that some of the wounds were only a few months old. If he was right, then the husband was already dead when they were made. William noticed he was fiddling with his wedding ring again, with a sigh. " _You need to stay objective_ ," he scolded himself.

When William called Dr. Kingsley, the doctor said that he questioned whether the weapon was actually a knife at all. It would have been very dull. From the observations he had made, and from the Jello-mold Dr. Ogden had made, he could conclude that the murderer would have to be very strong and have good knowledge of anatomy in order to use such a weapon fatally. " _Miss James did quite well her first time out_ ," William thought.

During the conversation, William had spotted the letter-opener on his desk, prompting him to ask, "Doctor, do you think a letter-opener could be the weapon?"

The man replied, "Very possibly, but to be honest Detective Murdoch, the possible objects is quite boundless. I mean it could have been a pair of scissors for God's sake…"

 _ **Suddenly, William found himself hurled rapidly into a memory**_ , a part of himself noting to be grateful that the doctor seemed to be a long-winded man and was talking incessantly into the phone. This particular memory had grabbed William quite hard. He hadn't noticed, but he was holding his breath. Ironically, _**the images didn't actually start with the pair of scissors rammed into Orgill's chest. No. It started with finding Julia in the morgue, curled up in the corner in the dark. He had been so grateful, his dizzying panic slowly starting to dissipate, upon finding her alright, after discovering that Orgill was the killer, and was impersonating Detective Scanlon, and having figured out that his victims were always working women.**_

 _ **My God, he had almost lost her, all those years ago, by being blinded and manipulated, unable to see what was right in front of his eyes, forgetting to look at the important connections – like when Detective Scanlon had been so horribly rude to Julia – and that she herself was the epitome of this particular man's favorite victim, a rare woman, such a successful, confidant and competent doctor, who had dared to think contrary to him. He remembered that she had been so shaken-up, unable to really speak, the crazed killer's blood all over her. He nearly fell to his knees thanking God for making Julia strong enough, smart enough, to find a way to save her own life when he had failed to protect her…**_

"Detective Murdoch! Are you there!?" the doctor's voice hollered from the phone receiver, pulling him back with a foggy gasp.

"Yes, yes doctor. Go on, please," William nearly yelled in his rush to make it appear that he was paying attention.

The doctor huffed, "It seemed odd that the carpet fibers were only on the body and not the clothing…"

William hurried to catch up, turning the pages of Dr. Kingsley's report to find the section about fibers. He interrupted, "That would be the … green fibers?"

The man's tone impatient, William wrinkled the corner of his mouth because he knew he deserved it, and the doctor continued, "Yes, yes, as I have already explained, the green carpet fibers were only found on the body, largely in her mouth and nasal passages... But there were no such fibers on her clothing…"

"I see here that burlap fibers were found on the clothing and in her hair, even in her eyes. Would you conclude that the victim died while lying on the green carpet, but whatever clothing she was wearing at that time had been removed, before she was wrapped in the burlap to move the body?" William asked.

The doctor took a deep breath, "Yes that would fit with the evidence detective," he agreed. "Or perhaps the body was moved twice…" he added into the phone, "Or it's even possible that _only_ her head was on the carpet, perhaps a small rug?"

William explained his theory, about the body being moved to a second location where the clothes were changed and then using the same burlap, brought to the scene where they had found it. Dr. Kingsley agreed that that theory fit best with all of the evidence.

"The location with the green carpet is the place where she was actually killed, if you can find it detective," Kingsley concluded.

By the time he had thanked the doctor and hung up the phone, William had mostly recovered from the emotional potency of remembering when Julia had been attacked by Orgill, and had killed the disturbed man with a pair of scissors in self-defense. Still, he decided to give in to his urge to make sure she was fine, picking up the phone and calling home.

Eloise answered. She explained that Julia had gone out to purchase some chemicals to make the special soap for the dishwashing and laundry cupboards. She asked him if he liked meatloaf.

"Now that may be my favorite!" William exclaimed into the phone.

"Oh, Dr. Ogden told me it was beef stroganoff," she replied, "Or maybe beef stew."

William chuckled, "As usual, my wife is right. I guess I have more than one favorite," he explained.

After he hung up the phone, he reminded himself that he had promised to never stop courting Julia, and he made a plan to buy her flowers, or even better, some sweet treat or other. He checked his pocket watch. " _Almost ten_ ," he noted. He would not call Ettie this early. Winnipeg was two hours behind Toronto time, and he knew Madam Weston's habits, she was not an early riser.

He was getting ready to head over to the morgue when Constable Hogan arrived. "Please come in constable," the detective said, gesturing to a chair in front of his desk. Constable Hogan was very young, in his first year in the Constabulary.

"Thank you for coming in on your day off," William said, sitting in a chair next to Hogan's, not wanting the formality of an interview. "Please tell me about the worker at Davies slaughterhouse, the one you wrote in your report that seemed to recognize the husband of our victim," he asked, getting right to the point.

Swallowing first, Constable Hogan tried to calm himself down. He had always been very impressed by Detective Murdoch. The man was a marvel, a hero to him of sorts. Hogan had been so excited when offered a chance to work under the famous detective that he chose Stationhouse #4 over Stationhouse #5, even though he lived farther away from here. "Yes sir. Um, do you mean like a physical description of the man?"

William opened his arms, offering a, "Sure."

"Well I would say the first thing that stood out about him was that he spoke with an accent. But sir, nearly every worker I spoke to at the slaughterhouses and the factories also spoke with accents," he explained.

The detective considered the value of the information so far, reminding himself to be patient. "Alright," he said, "Was he large or small, old or young…" he asked, twisting his face as if pulling information out of the young man.

Looking more confident, Hogan said, "Quite old… and average size…" Suspecting the detective was about to ask him to be more specific he blurted out, "Like you."

William blinked a few times…

"I mean, not old, old, obviously, if he was like you… sir," Hogan rambled.

Leaning forward, hoping to stop the blubbering by re-focusing on the witness, William asked, "So he was slightly above average in height, average weight, and about 40 years old?"

Hogan rushed to nod, "Yes, yes, yes, that's right sir."

"According to your report, you did not get the man's name…"

Constable Hogan fidgeted uncomfortably.

"That is not an accusation constable. I am sure you know that the name is an important piece of information to get when questioning people to find witnesses. What happened… so you didn't get this worker's name, in this case?" William reassured.

Hogan nodded, rapidly and repeatedly, "That's right sir. Err, he wouldn't give it to me, sir. Actually, he wasn't the only man I questioned who wouldn't, particularly in the slaughterhouses and even in the meatpacking places. They seem to be a very closed-lip bunch, sir."

"I see constable," William said, placing his hands on his knees, preparing to stand. "Constable, would you mind coming with me to Davies slaughterhouse?" he asked, adding, "I would appreciate it. I know it is your day off."

"Sure sir," he eagerly replied.

They took the police carriage rather than bikes because William wanted to take as little of Hogan's time on his day off as possible. It was not the first time William had gone deep into the stockyards, and yet it always managed to surprise him. The place reeks. It is a smell that is so dreadful that even the worst morgue he had ever been in could not compete with it. The closer they got to the slaughterhouse itself, the worse the smell became. And there was an awful noise, that started as an unidentifiable, almost a… roar, that somehow your brain slowly registered as being made by the animals, mostly the cattle. Davies slaughterhouse specialized in pork, and if you arrived at the right time of day – particularly in the morning, the heart-choking squeals of the pigs as they were hung up and slaughtered screeched through the air, both devastating and disgusting. William had always found the sounds echoed in his brain, mixing with his guilt. The nausea was palpable. So it was today. Hogan was green, William noticed, but the young man forced himself to toughen up, managing not to vomit.

The man Hogan had questioned was not at Davies' slaughterhouse, at least not that they could see. None of the workers were willing to say much, about the man Constable Hogan had questioned, or about the photos of their victim, Ieva, or her husband. Sometime after they had arrived, the manager, a Mr. Mulligan, showed up and offered to answer their questions. Mulligan was a very large man. William noted that this was a similarity to the killer, " _but of course, there are quite a few large men working in such places,_ " he reminded himself. In response to William's comment about it being uncommon for men in management to be so big, Mulligan explained that he used to work for Mr. Davies years ago carrying and loading carcasses before he was taken under his wing.

Mulligan looked at the photographs, saying he did not recognizing either the victim or her husband. He started to give them the names of men who were not at work today, but then explained that, "There are shifts here, detective. Our day starts very early, and there is work going on in one part of the business or another till past dark. But if your constable here questioned the man around this time on a Saturday, then it would have to be either Banus or Soulis or O'Connor."

"We will need their full names and addresses," William said, hoping to be brought to Mulligan's office.

"Sure thing, detective. Always willing to help the Constabulary," Mulligan replied. "Kempsey," the manager hollered up the stairs, "Get me Tadas Banus' and Herkus Soulis' and Tommy O'Connor addresses. They're in the book."

"Right away Mr. Mulligan," a very Irish sounding bloke called back from out of sight somewhere up the stairs.

Names and addresses in hand, the detective and Constable Hogan went back to the stationhouse. Someone on duty would accompany Hogan to see if any of these men were the worker he had questioned. He also asked George to look into the backgrounds of both, the manager, Mr. Mulligan, and the owner, Mr. Thaddeus Davies.

Once in his office, William closed the door and called Ettie Weston. A woman answered the phone and informed him that Miss Weston was not there and would not be returning until evening, probably around six PM. That was Winnipeg time, so William figured he would need to call after eight o'clock. He contemplated making the call from home this evening. The thought brought him a twinge of nausea. He didn't want Julia to listen in, he realized. He reached up and rubbed his forehead unconsciously, and sighed. He started reasoning through his reaction and decided he wanted to protect Julia from feeling jealous needlessly. " _No meatloaf_ ," he thought, picking up the phone to call home.

It was on about the fifth ring that he began to feel the worry. Flashes and flickers of his memory from earlier, of Orgill attacking Julia, accompanied the sickening feeling. " _Eloise could be out. We planned for her to have the afternoons off,_ " he told himself. " _And remember_ ," his own voice advised in his head, " _Julia is quite pregnant. She's likely in the lab in the basement. It could take her a long time to get to the phone… If she heard it at all from down there. We should put a phone down in the basement… Come on Julia_ …"

"Hello, Murdoch-Ogden residence, Dr. Julia Ogden speaking," her magnificent voice said into the phone.

William exhaled some of the pressure, through pursed relief, " _Thank God_ ," he thought. "Julia," he said.

"William," she replied.

He could hear the smile on her face. All of a sudden he remembered the flowers.

Excitedly she told him about her experiments. "I believe I have made a soap that will not oversuds, William. I was planning to test it out before you got home," she explained.

"That's wonderful Julia," he exclaimed, "Once again, you are brilliant!"

"Well, thank you detective," she replied. "Eloise is making meatloaf. She told me you called," she said.

"Yes, yes I did… I'm so sorry Julia, I'm going to be late tonight…" he said.

There was a pause. "Well, I can't deny that I am disappointed… How is the case going?" she asked, making an effort to be a good sport.

William filled her in, glad to get off of what felt like a sticky topic, but also because there was no one in the world he benefitted more from when sharing his cases than Julia. He told her about his discord with the, "sex play," marks on the victim's body. He had wanted to believe that the woman had not prostituted herself – at least not after she had married. Telling her about his feelings, he also encountered an uneasiness within his own skin, for he knew he was struggling with remaining objective, and he was completely aware that his inability to do so would likely harm his performance in solving the case. William trusted Julia, not to judge him poorly, and to offer wisdom and insight when he himself was feeling lost – he trusted her so profoundly, and he spent a moment thanking God again for bringing him such an outstanding woman. "Do you think such marks provide fairly solid evidence that she had… Uh, that she was prostituting herself?" William asked.

Julia couldn't see him, but she pictured him in her mind, rubbing his forehead, troubled. A part of her replayed their discussion over hot chocolate, when he had been unable to sleep. _William Murdoch truly was a good man, the best she had ever known. And it was his compassion for others that was a big part of what made him so. This case seemed different though, because he had seen himself so directly in the victims' shoes, or should she say in their wedding rings and their locket. Yet, he was still Detective William Murdoch, and what he seemed to need right now was a way of looking at all of this evidence that made sense – to him._

Her delay prompted William to speak up, "I mean, do you think that is the best explanation for such marks, for…"

"Well, we would have to consider the other possible causes," she paused deciding how to start, "You say some of the marks were only a few months old, and we know that her last letter from her husband was from longer ago than that… And you know she came to Toronto looking for her husband. So it seems very unlikely that her husband made the newer marks, and I would also venture to say that tends to lower the chances that he was the one who made the older marks as well," she reasoned into the phone."

William sighed, feeling a modicum of relief. He had not wanted to believe a couple that seemed to be so deeply in love would harm each other so. His efforts in trying to accept it had brought to mind images of marks _**he**_ had left on Julia's body – even this morning he had left a lovebite on her neck. An odd sense of pride was associated with such marks, he had to admit, although the thought of him feeling this way made him uncomfortable. But his aversion to even considering making marks on Julia like the ones left on this victim, using something like a whip, had served to be so extreme that he had found it had been impossible for him to even imagine doing so.

Julia knew that what she intended to say next would be hard for him. " _Start with his mind, then help his heart,_ " she thought. "William, perhaps she was a prostitute before she married her husband…" Julia suggested. "And then… You told me she had built a shrine – you thought to her young son who had died…"

William adjusted his position in his chair, almost as if he were trying to adjust his perspective. His brain worked, " _Prostitution before marriage could explain the older scars, and the boy is related to the more recent wounds… but how?_ "

Momentarily stuck, Julia hesitated, "Um, well… It would seem that the boy's death would not have been very long ago – if she still was praying so… formerly as I believe the shrine indicates. Perhaps the boy was sick, William… And she needed money…"

"And you think she might have gotten that money through prostitution?" he spoke the thoughts out loud.

"Yes. Yes William. Maybe, well… perhaps there would be nothing she wouldn't have done to try to save him, and her husband was not helping…" Julia said, her emotions high.

"A mother's love knows no bounds," William said into the phone.

Julia replied, "I have to say William, there are probably quite a few fathers that that is true for as well," at first thinking of him, but then considering the victim's husband. "Perhaps her husband also would have done anything he could to get the money they needed for their son… Even something very dangerous," she suggested.

William sighed. His heart sunk with the sheer desperation and pain the people they were discussing had likely experienced. Yet, the pieces fit, and he felt there was progress on the case. "Thank you Julia. As I have said plenty of times, you never cease to amaze me," he commended.

"I try," she responded. If they were together she would have nudged him.

Wishing she could do so, missing their physical closeness, William took a deep breath and told her he would likely be home sometime after eight o'clock. And with that, they said good-bye.

He felt troubled after he hung up the phone. " _Guilt?_ " he asked himself.

Constable Jackson knocked on his door. "Sir, I came to tell you that there is a phone call for you. Should I send it through?"

William nodded, "Thank you constable," he replied.

It was the Lithuanian woman from the Catholic Church where the victim had gone when she first arrived in Toronto. The woman had remembered something that might be important, telling him, "The woman you were asking about, that beautiful young Lithuanian woman in your photograph, well she also asked how to get to Davies Slaughterhouse."

" _Too much of a coincidence!_ " William's mind screamed. "Thank you Mrs. Tursius," he said excitedly, "That could turn out to be quite helpful."

He hung up the phone and quickly grabbed his coat and hat. He ducked his head into the Inspector's office, asking him if he could take Jackson with him to follow up on a lead.

"Good idea, Murdoch," he said. The Inspector reminded himself how much more concerned Margaret had been about his safety when she was pregnant with John. He added, "I suppose your wife would think so too."

"That she would sir," William agreed. He turned to Jackson and asked him if he would mind if they rode their bikes. The Inspector heard Jackson say he thought it was a good idea, the air would do him good.

# # # # # # # # # #

By the time Detective Murdoch and Constable Jackson pedaled up the sun was low in the sky, and Davies slaughterhouse was much quieter than it had been earlier in the day. Reaching this hour in the afternoon, all of the pigs had usually been slaughtered… the nearby cattle too. The stench however, still filled the air and permeated their nostrils. Noticing there was no one around in the pigpens, they headed for the buildings. Finding the front buildings empty, they headed towards the central area and offices. The sounds of workers and machinery attracted their attention.

They followed the noise and came upon a large building further back. Looking inside the factory-sized opened door, they could see a steam-powered hoist that connected up to an overhead assembly running around the ceiling along the perimeter. Some of the meat hooks on the overhead assembly held complete pig carcasses – weighing a good 200 pounds. There was a dreadful whirring sound at the opposite end of the area where workers made the first cut in the butchering process, slicing the carcass in half along its spine. Watching the next carcass in line, both policemen cringed as two big stirrup-like attachments caught the back ankles, holding them in place, the machine trudging onward to pull the carcass into a chute that aligned the middle of the tail-end of the carcass with a huge rotary saw. (William had worked with similar rotary saws in the sawmills, when he was a lumberjack. He had even nearly been killed by one himself when working undercover as a man down on his luck, to investigate the murder of a journalist at the House of Industry). Both men turned away as the carcass made contact with the huge whirling blade, blasting up the volume, ceaseless spinning, and cutting the carcass into two.

"Quite a sight," a man behind them said, bringing both men turn around.

Jackson, looking a bit green, commented, "One I would have preferred not to have seen."

The man gave out a belittling chuckle. "So, how can I help the Constabulary?" the man asked.

Pulling back his jacket to reveal his badge, William identified himself and asked to see the manager. The worker said that the manager had left to go see a client, and that the owner was out of town – in Winnipeg. Claiming he had already been questioned about the photos of the victim and her husband, as had every other man on the site, he asked to be allowed to get back to work or his pay would be docked.

As William and the constable walked back towards their bikes, William told Jackson he wanted to get a look inside the manager's office, hoping to see if it had a green carpet or rug. They had to pass back through the central area on their way out anyway. They headed up the stairs, trying to be stealthy. It was nearly dark in the hallway as there were no windows and the whole area seemed to be deep in the bowels of the entire complex. The detective stopped at the first door and strained to read the sign as his eyes adjusted to the murky, shadowy darkness. Not Mulligan's, he tried the next one. Making out the title on the door, "Manager," he turned the doorknob, finding it was locked. He eyed Jackson. He was considering picking the lock. He should have known better, he would later use this decision as evidence that he was too personally involved with this case, but he decided to do it anyway. He reached into his pocket searching for his pocketknife.

"Creak," the tiny sound came from behind them. Hands, handkerchiefs, chloroform over their mouths and noses. Each man spun to face their attackers, fists already swinging. William felt a powerful blow land to his mouth. _More than two men!_ Pain at the back of his head… Again the handkerchief with the sickening sweet smell of chloroform. Gone – dark – silent.

# # # # # # # # # #

Unsure if it was a dream, so dim and vague, the pain in his shoulder prompted him to moan, and William became conscious. _Perhaps he had been shot_ , he stirred to touch the source of the stinging pain, surging with panic upon discovering that he could not move – he could not see, unsure whether he was blindfolded or it truly was that dark! The terrible stink registered, and he tried to move his hands, producing the slightest motion of his fingers, then, even more dire, he failed in moving his legs. Quickly, he determined that he was bound and gagged, his body wrapped like a mummy from head to toe, in a cloth of some type held tight within a sturdy mesh of thick rope. Nowhere could he feel a floor, not a single part of him was able to touch the ground. He was dangling – the cloth and rope around his shoulder that was binding him bearing the brunt of his weight – but his shoulder had been sliced in the process of being hung there – _that was the pain, not a bullet_. The putrid smell, the memories of being attacked form behind, and then everything had gone blank. He was hanging in the air, from a meat hook that had been pierced through the rope and cloth he was wrapped in, high up on a steam-powered overhead assembly, between two humungous pig carcasses.

 _Jackson! Constable Jackson!_ His mouth gagged, thus reducing the volume as he tried to call and stifling his ability to speak, he located Jackson, who was in a similar predicament based on the sounds he heard, seeming to be a few carcasses behind him. He did not know what time it was, how long he had been unconscious, but he remembered seeing the machine he now hung from before they were attacked. He knew a worker would come in in the morning, turn the machine on, and it would jerk into motion. The machine would eventually bring him to the rotary saw. First, it would clamp on to his feet and pull him into the chute and then slice him in half within a few seconds. Death would be painful, yet relatively quick.

William's mind ran through scenarios, searching desperately for a way, any possible way, to get free. He tried bouncing, hoping to tear the cloth or slip the rope over the edge of the hook, to no avail. Not even close. However, he had been able to swing from the hook. " _Perhaps I can swing high enough to get my feet up on the pig carcass in front of me, then lift, taking weight off of the hook, and pull myself forward and thus pull the cloth and rope up, off of the hook,"_ he thought, optimistic with the chance. He realized that if his plan worked, he would end up falling to the floor. He would have to hope to avoid landing on his head. Once on the ground, he would still be fairly immobile, wrapped and bound as he was, but he could hop. Perhaps he could get close enough to the saw blade, use it to cut the rope bindings to get free.

He took a moment preparing, picturing in his mind the motion required. A deep breath, then with a grunt, a big kick backwards… momentum – and pain as the movement caused the lacerated flesh at the top of his shoulder to gouge deeper into the metal curve of the hook… and then a swing forward… bend as much as possible to pull back farther on recoil… and a higher swing… pull back once more… and now UP!

He knocked against the middle of the nearest pig carcass, unable to get high enough because of the tight, mummy-like bindings. He pushed the carcass into a metronomic swing in opposition with his own. Dominoes, it hit the next carcass sending it towards the next, before it swung back towards him, each subsequent bump lowering in intensity. Seconds after William had swung back and banged into the carcass behind him as well, he heard Jackson call out in pain as the jerky wave traveled down the assembly on the ceiling.

Disappointed, his mind worked to find another solution. He remembered the manager had said there were workers at various places throughout the complex into the night hours – " _perhaps they could make enough noise to be heard?"_ Accepting the risk that their captors might also hear, he tried screaming out as loud as possible through his gag and covered face, with Jackson quickly joining in. They tried kicking the carcasses near them about, producing thuds and clanging as the hooks bobbed and swung to and fro. Eventually however, all energy drained, they stopped, figuring either there was no one there to hear them, or the men who had attacked them chose not to come silence them.

After a time, William's mind moved. " _Someone will come. Julia will have called, alerted them._ " Perhaps it was not the end. _But, he remembered, he had called her and told her he would be late – so that he would be able to call Ettie._ William's heart sunk with the memory, with the realization that maybe no one was coming. " _When do the workers start the butchering in the morning?_ he questioned himself. He grew silent, listening intently. He heard it then – the grunts, and occasional squeals – the trainload of tomorrow morning's pigs had already been delivered and the animals stammered about in the large pigpens outside. " _They start early,_ " he remembered the manager saying, " _Perhaps five or six… I wonder when the trains with the livestock arrive – if it's close to starting time now? So dark – still night?" …_

… _It seems so long..._ " _Is it just the pain and exhaustion, causing such dizziness, or perhaps the blow to my head, or the remnants of chloroform on the gag?_ " he asked himself…

… _Brain still foggy… Hoof beats, a snort… Human voices?… Door shut, the sound far off… "The time is close now!"_ he thought, nausea and fear taking hold _._ He had fought against it. But it was at this moment that he failed to hold it off any longer – in his mind he saw HER… crying. " _Julia!_ " his mind bellowed. Such emotions drowned through him, soaking him in despair and regret, for he would never see her again. And his death would cause her such pain.

 **And then the flashes – the glowing, magnificent, beautiful, heartbreaking bursts of waves of memories – came, flickering in his mind, lightning bolt after lightning bolt, one after the other in such rapid succession that they defied memory.** His mother, with him nestled in her lap, reading to him from the Bible. Susana, hiding behind him when their father was throwing things around in an alcohol-induced rampage. Him, startling when his father slammed the door, drunk and hollering, causing him to drop firewood all over the floor. Him, running to his mother's lifeless body in the water, turning her over to see her ghostlike face. Susana, watching from the carriage that would relocate them to their aunt's home, as he cried on his knees, hugging his dog Duke good-bye forever. Father Keegan, reassuring him that he had nothing to fear from the dead. Him, as a lumberjack, scrambling up to the top of a tree, winning a race to cheers from below. Him, as a ranch hand, galloping on a horse and roping a steer. Ettie, crying over Alice Black's body. Him, a constable, testifying to the truth, then finding Ava Moon, her face cut to shreds, and bleeding from deeper wounds, after the charges had been dropped and Cudmore had attacked her. Him, standing over Liza's coffin as it is being lowered into her grave. Then, HER, looking into his eyes for the first time, over a body at a crime scene, taking his breath away for he knew SHE was the one. HER, glancing sideways at him as she lifted a stitch of thread high over the corpse she was working on in the morgue. HER, bouncing on the park bench next to him, considering sharing some excerpts from her diary from Prague. HER, walking into the dance studio and then whispering to him that she wanted to be held.

 **And then the streaks of images came faster, and faster.** HER, on the picnic blanket, her fingers in his hair, their lips growing closer, then touching, moving the Earth with their first kiss. HER, dangling above him in the hot air balloon, right before he took the leap. Him, kissing Ana, then seeing HER image in his mind and calling out HER name. HER, hugging him in the carriage, her locket – his badge, locking together with a "click." Him, sitting and staring into the midnight darkness in his lonely room, trying to find a way to go on without HER. HER, at the bottom of the stairs, back from Buffalo, engaged to another. Susana, telling him that she was dying, as they stood in the chapel of the convent. Him, unlocking the jail cell, setting Constance Gardner free. Him, secretly gazing upon HER in the morgue, now Darcy Garland's wife, as she sat so gracefully organizing her chemicals. Him, shooting and killing the man from the Black Hand who was going to shoot Ana. HER, in his arms after they had dug out the coffin, having been buried alive. HER, soaring him with hope, in a beautiful red dress, walking into the ball. HER, being taken away in the courtroom, looking back at him, destined to be hung. Gillies, in the film on the wall on the other side of his cage, removing his mask, after impersonating HER.

 **AND then the flashes came even faster.** HER, lifting the cover off of the cage of butterflies. HER, caring for him on the river shore, after he had failed to find Gillies in the river. Him, with his men at his side while on the waterfront docks, ordering George to send them forward into a gang of armed and dangerous men. HER, walking into view, stunning in her wedding gown, taking the Inspector's arm. HER, weeping softly, being comforted in his arms, after passionately making love. Father Keegan, pretending to fall while in pursuit, allowing Father Lebel to get away.

 **And then faster still, now seeming beyond the speed of light.** HER, wrapped as his sexy Christmas gift, surprised upon seeing he had walked in with George. James Pendrick, jumping out of the hot-air balloon before him, and spreading his wings of his suit to fly. George, on the ground being attacked by a guard dog. HER, rolling over to be tucked underneath him this morning, so beautiful in the darkness, before he made love to HER. HER, draped over him in in the afterglow, as he felt the 'bump' of their baby in HER womb.

…And then he remembered it… and his ears began to ring… piercing louder, and louder, and louder… with such beauty and such pain… **as if the thunder had caught up with the lightning** … …that SHE was pregnant, with his child – whom he would never know. And the tears started to fall, so hot and so salty, down his muffled face.

 **And then one final memory appeared…** Of him, watching through the leaves from afar, while his physical body was back in the Time Machine, and seeing his beautiful eight-year-old son, and standing next to their boy, SHE looked so earth-shatteringly beautiful… and he watched as their eyes followed the small balloon being lifted by the candle, after Julia had released it and it floated away… and he noticed… that he wasn't there.

Weeping overcame his existence – wrenching the essence out of his core, for he would miss so very, very much, and his son would have to make his own way in the world without him, and his child would never know how very much his father had loved him.

And there came a time, when exhausted and spent from crying, his tears had run out. And that is when he prayed, for God needed to be thanked, for bringing him such a rare and remarkable woman as Julia… and for bringing them such a vast and powerful love. And he had loved HER with everything he had. And he believed he always would. He thanked the Lord for bringing him a child, and hoped that the child would help lighten the heartbreak SHE felt with his loss. SHE would be a good mother. He knew she would. In that, his baby would be blessed. William took a deep breath as acceptance tried to sink deeper, searching to bring peace to his soul…

Hanging two pig carcasses behind William, bound and gagged and bleeding, Jackson had overheard the detective fall into quiet sobbing, the sounds breaking his own heart, reducing him to tears as well. He had tried to offer comfort, producing only smothered vocalizations, unable to reach through the gag in his mouth or the cloth covering his face or the other man's pain.

# # # # # # # # # #

When the Inspector's carriage arrived at the Davies slaughterhouse it was dark, but he could see the movement of the constable's lamps as they searched, some of the lights moving about around the various buildings, others glowing from inside the structures. " _Come on Murdoch! Be here – Be alright!_ " he pleaded inside his head. He was not sure which frightened him more, his own grief or facing that of the man's wife, but whichever it was, it made imagining finding the man dead insufferable. His worry drifted over to consider Constable Jackson, remembering that it was he who shrewdly recruited the man from Stationhouse #5 to win a baseball game, and filling with the dread of calling the younger man's wife. He had a big family…

George hurried towards him, emerging out of the darkness. "Sir!" he called. Their bicycles are here, by the pigpens, and the lads have found their clothing in some bins behind the central buildings there…

" _Oh, that is not good,_ " the Inspector thought, feeling a familiar fear creep up from his belly, threatening his heart. He had to consider where they were, and how animals were turned into meat here…

George continued, "We have conducted an initial search of all of the buildings. There are quite a few workers in the canning building, sir. The manager there reported no unusual disturbances this evening. But he did mention that he had not seen the night watchman…" Crabtree wrinkled his face, suggesting this was an important fact to consider.

"Get to the point Crabtree! Any sign of the detective or Jackson?!" he demanded.

George's disappointment answered the Inspector's question before he replied, "No, nothing yet sir."

"Where are the offices?" the Inspector asked. He would find the owner's number and call… the manager too. As George and the Inspector made their way to the offices the Inspector instructed him to find where the butchering was done, and to, "look for evidence that our men were there."

George braced himself, pushing aside the thoughts that threatened to overwhelm him, and pointed out the location of the building that the Inspector was referring to, and then left the Inspector to make the phone calls while he gathered up some men.

 _So much activity… Perhaps it's the Constabulary – come to save us!_ William excitedly began making an effort to be heard. He heard Jackson join in! "MMMmmm, MMMmmm," they called out as best they could, and they resumed their efforts to send the pig carcasses flying about from their locations hanging from the ceiling. " _LIGHT!_ " he noticed, peering in through the stitches in the fabric and from around the edges of the blindfold! " _LIGHT, Thank God!_ " Louder they called. Harder they swung and kicked against the carcasses.

 _A Constable's whistle!... Piercing the air._ Pure weakness overtook William with the realization that they would be alright.

"Detective Murdoch! Detective is that you?" young Constable Tandy's voice asked, receiving active wiggling and muffled noises from the burlap-wrapped body hanging from the ceiling. Jackson too, squirmed and called. "Jackson!" Tandy cried, running to stand below the large man, touching his legs.

The sounds of footsteps could be heard running, from seemingly all sides of the building. "They're over here!" Tandy called. It was dawning on him that it might be difficult to get them down.

"Detective Murdoch and Jackson are up there, sir," William heard a constable report.

Then he heard the Inspector's voice, "Murdoch!?"

"Mm-hmm," he replied.

"Jackson is there behind him sir," Tandy added.

"Thank God," the Inspector answered, relieved, so very, very relieved.

Noticing that there was blood on each man around where the hook entered the encasing burlap and rope mesh, he decided to investigate further how best to free them. He had a constable try to lift each of them, hoping to lower the strain on their flesh from the weight of hanging, but quickly discovered that doing so actually increased each man's pain, as it raised their bodies, pushing their wounds closer and deeper into the metal hooks that rested just above their cuts. This was actually good news, for it meant the hooks had not been poked through the flesh. Murdoch and Jackson could either be cut loose, or lifted off over the ends of the hooks.

The Inspector instructed two smaller men to get up on another bigger man's shoulders and cut the detective and Jackson loose, while other men held their wrapped bodies to keep them steady and keep them from falling once cut free.

Soon, they were laid out on the floor and their mummifying coverings cut away, setting them each free. Everyone present was relieved to find their captors had left both men relatively unharmed and they each had their underwear on as well. The building was surprisingly warm for a December night, probably as a result of the slowly cooling pig carcasses, but with the doors now opened and the passage of time since the pigs had been killed, a chill was slipping in. The two men were in shock and they were quickly covered in their own coats.

"There were about four or five men who attacked us, sir," William said. "It was dark and we were taken by surprise. I doubt I would be able to recognize them," he added.

"Jackson?" the Inspector asked.

"Same for me, sir," Jackson replied.

William quickly added, "They used chloroform. They could have killed us, sir, easily. It seems they intended to," he said, gesturing to the rotary saw. "I don't understand…"

"You're being warned off Murdoch," the Inspector replied. "This meatpacking bunch is a nasty lot that sticks together, tough, like the O'Shea's crew down at the docks," he explained.

"I see," William answered.

"You're going to need stitches – a trip to the hospital…" the Inspector said.

Crabtree's voice called from the doorway, "Sirs, this is the manager, Mr. Mulligan."

Now standing, wearing only his underwear under his coat, barely aware of the fact that he was still in shock, William said, "Yes, we met earlier Mr. Mulligan…"

The Inspector interrupted, "Mr. Mulligan, it seems your establishment does not take very kindly to be questioned by the Constabulary. And seeing as a fish rots from the head, I would like to know why you and Mr. Davies wouldn't want my detective here nosing around about our murder victim."

Mulligan had been staring and gawking at the bloody burlap wrappings on the ground, and the two wounded and unclothed men, seemingly stupefied. However, now he had been jolted into defense. "Inspector," Mulligan said, "Mr. Davies has been out of town for days. He would have no idea about any of this! And I…"

"Oh, I'm sure you were far from here when all this went down," the Inspector charged, "But your men know what is expected of 'em, heh."

William interjected, "We want names of all the men working here this afternoon, for questioning. George…"

"Yes sir," George replied. "Mr. Mulligan shall we," he said gesturing to the door.

Mulligan stood his ground and said to the Inspector and the detective, "You are assuming this was done by my men. You have no proof of that! This could be the work of anybody who wants your detective dead. Besides, Burns is out to get me closed. He could just as easily be behind this. He's got spies here – do 'in his dirty work. Could be them that did this."

"We will need you and Mr. Davies to come down to Stationhouse #4 for questioning, Mr. Mulligan," William said, "You can tell us all about that then… When is Mr. Davies returning?" he asked.

The Inspector answered, having had spoken to Mrs. Davies when he called the home, "He is leaving Winnipeg tomorrow morning, according to his wife, Murdoch."

William instructed, "George, we will need Mr. Davies to come in once he arrives."

"Yes sir," George said. "Oh, sirs," George remembered, "It seems that there is usually a night watchman on duty, but," he said shaking his head, "There was not one here tonight according to the manager over at the canning building."

"Oh," William replied, turning to Mulligan.

Mulligan shrugged. "No one called me. I didn't know," he answered.

"George," William added, "Let's looks into where this night watchman is. He'll need a call…" William looked around and then said, "He could be injured… Let's have the lads continue searching until we know his whereabouts."

"Right away sir," George replied. Then he went with Mulligan to get the list of names and call the night watchman.

# # # # # # # # # #

In the carriage on the way to the hospital, William and Jackson rode with the Inspector. The Inspector informed them that it had been a call from Julia that had alerted him to the fact that they were missing.

William asked the Inspector to call Julia and tell her he was alright. The Inspector said he would call Jackson's wife as well.

It was quiet between the men for a while before William spoke up, his mind working on the case, "I wonder which picture set this all off, sir – our victim's, Ieva, or her husband's?"

"Murdoch, it could be this lot just plain doesn't want the Constabulary around at all. Have you considered that?" he asked.

"But sir," William replied, "There is evidence that there is more to it than that. The woman from the church, who helped Ieva when she first arrived in Toronto – from Winnipeg sir, that may be relevant as that is also where Davies has been…" He paused, his mind trying to travel down too many avenues at once. He pulled back to his original thought, "This witness from the church called today and said that Ieva asked her for directions to _Davies slaughterhouse_. And Constable Hogan questioned a worker at _Davies_ who, he thought, behaved like he recognized the photos."

The Inspector considered it, then replied, "Not much, but…" he nodded, "Worth looking into. We should talk to a judge, we're going to want to look at their books, I think. Follow the money."

"I don't know if we have enough to convince a judge right now," William replied.

The Inspector nodded, "Let's see what we get from our questioning tomorrow."

"We should try to get everybody's fingermarks as well sir, we have fingermarks from the killer," William said, then thought for a moment and added, "Or at least from whoever placed the body behind the brothel," now aware there may be more than one man involved in this whole mess.

It wasn't until William stepped out of the carriage that he started getting an inkling of how thrown-off he was by what he had been through. There was an odd dizziness in his brain, and a strange sense of being outside of everything somehow. Through it all, he found himself turning in his mind to the one thing that grounded him in this world – Julia. He asked the Inspector to find him after he called Julia, to reassure him that she knew he was fine and would be home after he had been treated for "only minor injuries," he had asked the Inspector to call them. The Inspector left him and Jackson sitting in the waiting room to make the calls.

As soon as they were alone, Jackson, his voice sounding distant and dull, monotone, said, "I thought that was it, sir."

William responded in the same way, "As did I constable." He wrinkled up a corner of his mouth and caught the man's eye, admitting to his suffering and fear. At that instant, he remembered hearing Jackson try to console him when he had been weeping. A sudden flood of love for the man, and embarrassment for himself as well, parted and spread through him. He blushed with the emotions, and quickly turned away.

He realized that hearing Jackson's murmuring had helped, for because of it he knew he was not alone… He also remembered it had stirred within him a surge of guilt, although he barely noticed it because he was drowned in grief. William cleared his throat, and staring down at his shoes, he said, "Your kindness…" but stopped, not able to continue, unsure what to say. He took a deep breath. Jackson did the same. William was pretty sure he didn't want Jackson to say anything about hearing him cry, about knowing he had fallen apart, so he quickly spoke up to stop him from doing so, saying, "Thank you, for accompanying me into danger…" He swallowed again, feeling his throat drying up remembering his choice to sneak upstairs to look for the manager's office, and then to try to pick the lock, and added, "And I am sorry I took such a risk." Again he clamped his lips together and braved a glance.

"You're welcome, sir… I hope you know that I am honored, to work with a man such as yourself," Jackson replied, giving William a quick nod.

William wrinkled up a corner of his mouth and gave the man a quiet smile of appreciation.

The two men sat quietly waiting after that. Soon they were each taken into the back to be treated. The Inspector found William and told him that Julia did not answer the phone. He wanted to know if he should go over to their house to check on her.

"She was probably in the bathroom – had the water running so she didn't hear the phone, sir. I'll just go home…" He wondered how late it was, realizing he didn't have his suit on, not to mention his watch. The bundle of his clothes rested over at the side of the room. He asked the Inspector the time.

It was the doctor treating him who answered, telling him it was almost midnight. William figured it was not unlikely that Julia had stayed up that late, worried… and then had decided to take a shower. "I'm sure she is fine. I should be home soon," he said, both men looking to the doctor for confirmation.

The doctor replied, "We should be done here in about 20 minutes." With that, the Inspector took his leave.

# # # # # # # # # # #

When William arrived at home it was nearly one o'clock in the morning. He found Julia asleep. Her lamp was on, and there was a glass, " _Probably a sleeping draft_ ," he thought, on her night table. Deciding not to wake her, he quietly walked over and turned out the light. He undressed in the dark, placing the heavily soiled and now quite stinky suit and other clothing in the laundry basket in their closet. He would need a bath – he reeked of the odors of the slaughterhouse. Not wanting to awaken Julia, he used the hall bathroom – managing to clean himself, and even wash his hair, while keeping the stitched up wound on his shoulder dry under the bandage. She was still sleeping when William put on his pajamas and crawled into bed next to her. Expecting to be plagued by thoughts of the long and traumatic day, he advised himself to recite a prayer. He wouldn't even remember lifting the covers over his body before he was asleep.

When he suddenly awoke sometime later, with a quick jerk – he had been dreaming of being hung from the ceiling in the slaughterhouse, and he had been using his muscles in the dream to swing higher, trying to reach up to the top of the pig carcass in front of him, causing a real-life twitch that startled him out of his dream – he found that Julia was not in the bed.

Downstairs in the kitchen, Julia stood at the stove stirring a pan of hot chocolate, with her back to the entrance when William came in behind her. Not wanting to startle her, he cleared his throat before he walked over and added some milk and chocolate to the pan. She sighed and took a sideways glance at him. She noticed a cut on his lower lip, it was pretty bad. She wondered what other injuries he had, under his pajamas, tucked away out of sight. Frozen in silence, in between wanting to leap into his arms with joy and wanting to smack him for frightening her so, she went and sat at the kitchen table, with her back to him, while he stirred their hot chocolate.

She watched him in the window reflection, still stuck, unable to speak, unable to find words. She saw him reach up into the cupboard and bring down two cups… But at the same time her mind ran an old memory, from when he had gone missing, for such a long, long time, without any word, without a clue – he had ended up in Bristol, all the way across the Atlantic Ocean, had lost his memory, and in true Murdoch fashion, he had even saved the Queen. Sitting here now, it felt so real, like a hallucination more than a memory. She was sitting at her desk in the morgue, staring into the window that looked out over the autopsy theatre. Like now, she could see herself in the window – but she could also see him – see him tip his hat to her, see him standing and writing on the chalkboard with his hand in his pocket, see him when he kissed her on the picnic blanket, even hear him laugh. The flashes of him were so beautiful, so sweet; they caused her heart to soar with love, while at the very same time pangs of soreness from what seemed to be the inevitable loss of him, stirred in her chest. How did she ever survive it then?

Suddenly, beckoning her out of the trance, he was standing next to her, the warm, white cup breaking the silence as he placed it on the table in front of her. He sat at the end of table, in the chair just around the corner from her. Watching, out of the corner of her eye, she saw him raise the cup to his lips, take a slow, warm sip. She felt his eyes on her. Dropping her eyes down, she focused on the hot chocolate, taking a sip for her. A soothing sense of gratitude sank into her as the warm, smooth feel of the thick liquid washed away some of her fear. She swallowed, forcing it down, steaming it away. Her big sigh broke the quiet, making a first step to connecting with him.

His voice was tender when he said it, "I'm sorry, Julia."

But his effort to take responsibility for her suffering surged regret through her, causing her to choke up, her eyes becoming hot and swollen with tears. She knew she couldn't let him do it – He had done nothing wrong. She knew who she had married. A tear escaped, slid down her face, for such suffering was inevitable, unavoidable – came with their love, was destined.

The sight of the glistening liquid pearling and flowing down her cheek tortured his heart. The pain pushed him to build up a defense against it, a spark of anger and indignation surprised him with his thoughts, " _What does she want me to do? Quit my job? Become an accountant?"_ his brain argued.

She took another sip of hot chocolate, using it to clear her throat, and said, "You have nothing to be sorry about William…"she offered, certain she saw his chest heave with relief out of the corner of her eye. She lifted her eyes, caught the sight of him, his cup to his lips, his beautiful eyes glancing at her sideways, through their dark, long lashes, offering hope, hinting at playfulness even when the mood seemed so dire. She marveled at the power that this particular look of his hand over her body, somehow sending her womb, her heart, and her brain into a whirlwind. So quickly the tears had gone. She went on to explain, "The Inspector told me you expressed concern for safety … That, because of me and our child, you had wanted to bring along a constable…"

William took a deep breath, twisted his face a bit with doubt and regret and said, "Yeah, nearly got _**two**_ people Ki…" He abruptly stopped, his eyes betraying his concern over saying it, over telling her how close it had really come.

She saw it though. She knew. They both dropped their eyes away from each other quickly. Silence loomed momentarily, disturbed only by the sipping of hot chocolate and the placing back down of the cups.

Julia broke it first. She inhaled deeply, drawing his attention, and she slid her chair over closer to his. Moving the two cups out of the way, she placed them on the nearby counter. She reached up and fiddled with the collar on his pajama top, creating a stir in him, sending his eyes into a sparkle. With her eyes down on the boundary between his skin and the red fabric, watching her fingers slip dangerously along the edge, she started, "Detective William Henry Murdoch…" Her eyes lifted to meet his. The connection was strong, flirtatious. She unbuttoned the top button, sending a lustful jolt of electrical urges down to his groin. "I fell in love with _**all**_ of you – the whole package … including the _**detective**_ part," she said, then with a shrug she added, "And I think the detective part is very sexy, really … a hero who fights the harshest elements to save people…" Her fingers moved up, slipped into his hair, scratched enticingly along his scalp, "I fell quite hard … head-over-heels … I still am, madly in love with this man … this detective," she said with her eyes honing in on his mouth. She tilted her head, brought her lips close.

There they were, flickering and flashing across his mind, the urgent, demanding, fantasies … of what to do with her, where to put her, what to take off of her, and what to leave on. They were particularly strong tonight –rushed, insistent – not uncommon after having faced death. They made wild, primitive, hungry love to each other, there in the kitchen, sometimes on the table, others against the wall. Their biggest challenge seemed to be restraining themselves from making love the way they both so desperately wanted to – the way they most commonly made love before they had had to rely solely on Plan C because of the baby. William had been particularly rough – struggling to control the vigor of his movements, having placed Julia between himself and the wall during his most burs tingly eager and rewarding moments, causing her to suffer a cut lip. Surprisingly, William had not yet revealed his injured shoulder to her by the time they were done, having kept his pajama top on and managing to keep from calling out in pain whenever he had used his left shoulder, or she had pushed against it.

Thoroughly exhausted, feeling loved through and through, they lay together on the kitchen table in the moon's luminous glow. Julia broke the quietude. "I think it was so wild and passionate tonight because you were in danger earlier – because we almost lost you. It is so frightening, William, to imagine it, to think of losing you…" She sighed, coping with the feelings once again stirring within her chest, "And I guess it makes being together so much more valuable when we are confronted with the ever so present and real recognition, that life is fleeting. There is an urgent need to get as much love out of it as we can, while we can," she said as she wrapped her arms around him and hugged him closer.

William's experience earlier on the meat-hook, of seeing his life in rapid images darting across his awareness, suddenly loomed large again in front of him. He so wanted to tell her about it. He knew he would do so, but not now, for after their lovemaking, he was finding he was beyond exhausted. "Mm," he agreed. With Julia feeling sleepy too, they headed up to bed.

Now, in the darkness of their bedroom, she placed her head on his chest and she draped her leg over him – once again putting their baby close to its father. Julia told him that she hoped he had enjoyed their last night of lovemaking anywhere they wanted in the house for a while, for tomorrow night her sister Ruby would be arriving, and she had invited her to stay with them. As they had yet to furnish either of the servants' suites in their house, Ruby would be sleeping in a room down the hall. "Mm-hmm," William had acknowledged as sleep took him. She decided she would tell him about the Baby Shower Margaret Brackenreid was throwing for her tomorrow. As her fingers strolled along his muscles through his pajamas, the pleasant stroking soothing him even as he slept, she did not discover the bandages up on his left shoulder. This was fortunate. It meant that he could put off until tomorrow all of the problems he had to deal with, that they would have to deal with, as a result of him having gotten hooked – literally and figuratively – on this case.


	6. Chapter 6Slings and ArrowsT

Murdoch in the Jungle_5_Slings & Arrows

Both sleeping in the December morning darkness, Julia dreamed next to him. It was the kind of dream that could have earned them a noise complaint if they were still living at the Windsor House Hotel, or at least it would have riled up the African Grey parrot, Charlie, who lived on the floor below them, into a squawking, "highly-aroused-Julia" imitation. William, having been through a gruesome, horrifying, and highly emotional night, was not stirred. When his wife had slowly drifted into wakedness, she was still pumping every drop of pleasure out of her dream with him, thus she found herself lying next to him, content, feeling loved and in love, soft and warm. She propped herself up on an elbow gazing upon him and waited for her eyes to adjust in the shadowy blackness. Hearing his deep, slow breaths, she wanted to thank him, to tell him how much she loved him. She so yearned for him to be holding her like he did after they made love.

Slowly, his dark hair against his lighter face took shape, and she remembered that he had been late last night – very late. Consequently, she had been worried, had called the Inspector. William had finally come home, her waking to find him asleep next to her, and he was alright. They had talked, so intimately – and made love, in the kitchen – passionate and wild. She couldn't shake it though, the blaring awareness that he had almost died… She inhaled deeply, trying to calm her nerves and focused on his lips, at first to tease herself with a longing to kiss them, but then she remembered and searched the curves and shadows for the cut she had seen there when he had stood next to her stirring the pan of hot chocolate. _Against the wall in the kitchen_ , she remembered as she reached up to find her own cut on her lip, collateral damage from the intensity of last night's lovemaking storm, touching it now on her face to solidify the memory somehow. She wondered what other injuries he had, shrouded from view under his pajamas.

The ticking of the alarm clock snuck into her awareness through the morning darkness. She would turn it off – he needed to sleep…

Eloise was in her usual place for this time of the morning, standing in front of the stove cooking, currently brewing scrumptious concoctions in an array of pots, each filled with some piece or another of the Murdoch's day's-worth of meals. Dr. Ogden had come down at their usual time and eaten her breakfast, saying that the detective had had a late and difficult night, and that he would be sleeping in today. Thus, she was not surprised when he appeared in the kitchen, already after nine o'clock, still dressed in his pajamas and a robe – but it was the man under the clothes that took her a bit by surprise, unshaven, hair mussed about, and a swollen lip. " _The doctor was surely right indeed, a very rough night,_ " she thought.

"Eloise," his harried voice broke the peaceful sounds of her work, "I'm sorry but I do not think I will have time for breakfast this morning – I'm quite late." But it was mid-sentence that the steamy odors of her cooking had roused his hunger, and he was already reconsidering.

From within the little laundry room annexing the kitchen, Julia's voice answered him, before Eloise had had a chance to respond. "Disregard my husband's doubts, Eloise," she said, folding back the door between the kitchen and the laundry room, "William will be starving after missing dinner last night…" Her eyes met his for the first time in the golden light of morning. "Hmm?" she asked raising an eyebrow at him.

Momentarily dumbfounded, weariness still present, and mixed with his panic upon realizing he was terribly late for work, and now this immense hunger – and HER, so beautiful – and their baby inside of her…

Julia gave him a warm smile and then turned back to the bundle she had packed up for Eloise to take to be cleaned…

He heard it then, the laundry-washing cupboard was on. His eyes darted to the floor looking for the overflow of suds – there was none…

Julia opened her hand, gesturing at the package and asked him, "William, what on Earth is this disgusting smell all over your clothes?!"

The memories rushed back in then, of waking hanging on the meat-hook, bound and gagged, destined for the rotary saw in the darkness. To provide a means of defense against the devastation of the memories, his mind leaped to thoughts of his work – the case! From across the kitchen, he hurried over to Julia's side, huffy about her decision not to allow him to wake with the alarm. "Julia," the edge in his voice caused her pause, (and Eloise noticed it as well, quickly turning back to the stove to busy herself), "I needed to be on time today. I have the entire work shift from Davies slaughterhouse coming in to be questioned and to provide fingermarks. I have a lot to do today. You should not have let…"

She interrupted him, "Oh! That explains the smell, you were in a slaughterhouse!?" Pictures of the frightening, horrific environment he must have been in last night swirled in her mind, "A slaughterhouse William!?" she cried, her voice squeaking with her upset. Understanding now, the dire, bleak, violent, inhuman place where he had almost lost his life added such pain to her thoughts of what had nearly been his demise, that she was momentarily dazed, tears filling her eyes.

Standing in the small laundry room by her side, the unique stink of his clothing permeating his nostrils and triggering an immediate and lifelike memory of being there, and as a result, feeling compassion for Julia's feelings of being overwhelmed, William softened. He stared down at the bundle containing his suit, which had spent at least part of the night without him, hidden away to be disposed of, in bins containing decaying pig parts. Taking a deep breath he said, barely above a whisper, "It was truly awful Julia, I will not deny it."

Her brain plummeting into turmoil, she told herself it was alright. He was fine. He was right there next to her. She needed to get a hold of herself…

It was William who tried to lighten the mood, "Two days – two nearly ruined suits," he started, turning to her and shining a hopeful smile.

"Two?" she questioned, though she knew she had put _two_ suits in the bundle and she quickly remembered what had soiled the other one.

William went on, "One from animal excrement and the smell of death, the other from its near opposite…"

"Soapsuds," Julia finished for him, giving him a tiny giggle, celebrating their connection.

"Your chemical invention works!" he exclaimed, searching the edges of the top of the laundry-washing cupboard as it agitated away, finding absolutely no evidence at all of the escape of an overabundance of soapsuds.

"It does," she replied proudly. Their eyes met, the enthusiasm and sparks back. He clamped his lips together and raised an eyebrow at her. _My God, she wanted to put her hands on him_. Julia's eyes checked, wondering if they were within sight of Eloise. They were safely tucked away in their little nook, so she reached up and took hold of the collars of his robe and pulled him to her… then her fingers in his hair, his hands up her back, firm, holding her in place for his kiss, so delightful and secret, and soft.

Breaking off the kiss, she wrapped her arms around his neck, unknowingly putting pressure on the stitched-up laceration on his shoulder. Ever so slightly, he winced, the pain bringing him back to the business at hand, "I need to call the Inspector," he said with a sigh.

"I already called him earlier. He agreed that it would be good to let you sleep in – considering what you had been through. He isn't expecting you until later. He said he would notify the people you were planning to question today," she explained. She thought she saw relief and gratitude in his eyes, briefly before he gave in to his habits, and turned to the temptation to ruminate on his personal requirement to always do more, to strive to do better, and to reflect upon how his current actions, in this case of letting her care for him, represented a failing to do so. Changing the subject, distracting him before he got there, she said, as her finger gently traced the cut on his lip, "As your doctor, detective, I believe I need to know about your other injuries."

He considered doing this without getting into what had actually happened, for he was finding that the more time that passed between the shattering events and the current moment, the less he wanted to revisit them. And yet, he knew he wanted to share his profound experiences, while he had faced the ending of his life, and he had confronted, face-to-face, what his life had been, what it had meant, and even what it would have become, all of these things he wanted to share with her – just not right now. His hesitation had drawn her attention.

"William Henry Murdoch," her voice scolded and warned, "I am perfectly aware that you suffered more than just this cut lip… that you went to the hospital even, according to the Inspector…" She reached over and untied his robe, slid it over his shoulders, catching evidence of a bandage under his pajamas as she did so, watching for him to flinch. " _Not this time,_ " she thought, as she placed the robe on the washing cupboard. She flirted, as she undid the top buttons of his pajama top, her lips enticingly close to his ear, "Are you going to tell me, or am I going to have to examine every inch of you myself?" Her heart – and her womb – and her brain, flipped and spun, swimming with excitement as he hesitated, imagining the pleasure of the second choice.

"Every inch?" he asked, his eyebrow up.

She could tell by the power of his breaths as they flowed over her that he was becoming aroused. As dominoes crash and fall, and crystals form, with a snapping into place that seems both inevitable and unstoppable, her insides twisted with a familiar and delicious need for him. His buttons now undone, she slid her hands in over his firm stomach, up his ribs, across his chest. Her knees weakened as her dizziness grew.

William swallowed and stopped her. "Eloise will hear us," he whispered, and he stepped back.

Still leaning towards him, her brain told her, " _He's right_ ," and she regained her balance knowing that the wave of disappointment would pass. She just had to wait it out.

Always the stronger one when it came to denying himself pleasure, William pulled off his pajama top and bent his knees to lower himself sufficiently to show her his injured shoulder. She tended to it, removing the bandage and assessing both the injury itself and the work done by the hospital doctor. In her mind she questioned what had caused the strange laceration – " _too wide for a knife, too deep for the grazing of a bullet. It seemed to have gone clear through the skin and the top of the muscle, albeit shallowly, and then the skin had been torn as if it had been pulled… upwards. Puzzling..._ "

Feeling the burn in his thighs from the strain of holding his lowered position for so long, he urged, "Quickly please."

Reminding her of a time nearly a decade ago, when they had used watermelons and a murderer's shovel to determine the height of a killer, she teased him now as she did then, "Don't tell me those cycling legs of yours can't hold up," she said with a sly smile. His responding chuckle indicated she had ignited the same memory in him, surrounding her in happiness.

Eloise suddenly appeared from around the corner of the door, her eyes wide and stuck on William's naked, and quite lovely, chest. "Detective…" she said before her own surprise stopped her.

Feeling like two young school children caught by a teacher while stealing a kiss in the coat room, both William and Julia jumped apart. Julia stammered quickly to say, "Oh, uh, Eloise! We are just … err, I am examining William's injuries from last night."

Managing to pull her eyes away from the attractive curves of his body, Eloise focused on the stitched up wound on the detective's shoulder and declared, "Of course. Of course, doctor. I um, …the detective's breakfast is ready." She dropped her eyes and seemed to be gone as suddenly as she had emerged.

William and Julia shared a look, Julia's eyes growing big, and they shared a whispered giggle. Having regained her composure she said, "The wound looks clean and the stitches look good. I have something I have been working on in the morgue – and I brought some of it here to my lab downstairs. It should help fight infection… And William, your shoulder will need to be immobilized…"

A dread-filled disappointment suddenly greened across his face, for he didn't like the sound of that. "But, the doctor at the hosp…"

Her stern, piercing, confident, glare communicated instantly, completely demanding his submission.

He swallowed and cleared his throat, hoping to push down his worry and regret, "Yes doctor," he acquiesced.

She ducked her chin and, still in control, still scolding him for questioning her, she added, "It will need a sling."

Oh how he hated the idea – imprisoned, helpless, the resulting outward appearance he would be presenting to the world, to his men, to the men he would need to question on the case, of being so beaten, defeated, conquered, so weak and wimpy. A pungent aversion to the idea swarmed through him.

Her sense of being in charge of his care re-established, Julia saw his acceptance, and with it his worry and anxiety and extreme discomfort. It tugged at her, but she _did_ know it was for the best. "It will only be for a few days, William," she offered, cupping his cheek. Then, with her tone brighter she asked, "What else?"

He looked confused, but then got her meaning with an, "Oh," and said, "I have a lump on my head." He reached up to touch it and she followed, finding it for herself.

"Did it knock you unconscious?" she asked.

He sighed. "No, just wobbly … so they could use the chloroform again," he answered showing her his 'admitting it' face.

"Chloroform… You must have quite a headache with all that?" she added as she held up his robe, opening out the left arm of it for him. He nodded in agreement and reached up to rub his forehead as he slid into the robe. She stepped back in front of him and tied the sash for him, saying in a whisper, "I think it would be best to cover-up some detective. Don't you?" Placing her lips close to his ear, her breath cloaking his skin with its humid warmth she added, "Eloise has already gotten quite an eyeful I'd say."

"Mm-hmm," he nodded in agreement as they walked out of the laundry room together. He sat at the table and devoured his breakfast – he was amazed how hungry he actually was – while Julia went down into the lab to prepare her latest medical invention. It was based on research involving _Penicillium glaucum_. A group of French doctors had discovered that the microorganism cured typhoid in guinea pigs. She would apply it topically, but she would also give William an intramuscular injection to get it into his circulatory system as quickly as possible, and then he could start on a regiment of pills. She had a lot to do. " _Oh, and the sling. I'll need to make a sling for him too,_ " she reminded herself, chuckling as she thought about how much she was sure he would have wished she had forgotten the darn contraption.

Upstairs, Julia treated and rewrapped William's shoulder and she helped him dress, into his third suit this week, and it was only a Tuesday. Inevitably, their conversation turned to what they had each been through the night before, their thoughts having been triggered by his wound and the discussion of the smelly possible demise of his suit. William, needing to feel her close, took her into his arms and held her in an embrace. They waited together, feeling their breaths and their heartbeats, for him to calm down enough to tell her.

He described for her going upstairs to the Davies slaughterhouse offices with Jackson, and taking the risk of picking the lock on the manager's door, and then being attacked from behind, and chloroformed, and how he had woken up to find he was encased in a cloth and a net of ropes, and bound and gagged, and he couldn't move or speak, and it was so, so dark, and the ground was nowhere within reach, and he remembered where he was, hanging from the ceiling on a meat-hook, and he knew destiny had aligned him with a whirling, spinning, gigantic saw-blade. Taking another moment to catch his breath, he explained what it had been like to be hanging on the meat-hook – speaking to God – not for himself, for he had accepted death – but thanking Him for bringing him her.

"I asked God to take care of you Julia… and then I nearly fell apart with the realization that I would never see our baby. I suffered with such regret, and guilt, that our child would never know how much he or she was loved by their father," William said, his emotion clearly strong with the pain of the memory. Deeply, he breathed in the scent of her hair and being soothed by it, he continued, "And I thought about so many things in my life. They say your life flashes before your eyes, and it did. I remembered, seemed to relive, each moment, so many, many moments … and Julia, almost all of them were when I was with you. I wanted God to know how grateful I was to have found you, and to have known you, and to have loved you, and to have been loved by you." He took her head in his hands and he fluttered kisses over her face, taking in the taste of her, inhaling her scent, convincing himself that she was right there with him, that she was his. He loved her more than any words could ever say. He wanted her to know the extent of his feelings – how she was everything to him.

He kissed her cheek, her jaw, her chin, her lips. He wanted to kiss every inch of her, revel in her, worship her, savor every bit of her. Open every petal, caress the bottom of each leaf, be filled with her smell. He wanted to slowly, warmly, deeply, bring her to ecstasy, bask in the melodious cries of her ultimate passion, knowing she too felt his love for her in every cell, every atom, down to her core, through her very soul. He assured himself that tonight he would shower her with a tender, loving, adoring "warm front," a seemingly everlasting, gentle lovestorm, that would leave her feeling deliciously limp, spent and deeply cared for. He whispered to her, telling her of his promise.

"How delightful," she whispered back. But then she remembered that Ruby was coming, and that, being Ruby, she would likely be spying and listening in, probably right on the other side of their bedroom door, and that would mean they would need to be quieter – well really _**she**_ would need to be quieter – than usual, and she giggled, and she knew William could not possibly know why she was laughing, but she had remembered the noise complaints, and the parrot, and the hotel clerk reading the complaint to them, in his monotone voice, hearing the snide man's voice in her head, " _Please – William - please. Oh – my – God - William. Don't – stop – William – please - don't - stop. Oh. Oh."_

"Julia?" William's lovely voice wondered in her ear.

"Oh William," she declared moving back to better see him, "I think you might have fallen asleep last night when I told you…"

His face, so puzzled and intrigued, challenged her so, for it only increased the humor and she had to fight not to burst into more giggles. And it was only worse, for she knew that it would be a twisted path to get to the funny part, but she tried, "Ruby is coming tonight…"

"From New York City?" he asked, "Tonight?" his eyebrow lifted at her, because he did not see how that could be humorous.

"Yes, yes," she said, nodding vigorously, knowing she would never be able to tell him before he…

"Why?" he asked, sending her into laughter with the question. Unable to help himself, William giggled too.

But then her mood changed… because he didn't know why Ruby was coming, and she herself had forgotten, had put it aside with all of the emotion of nearly losing him, and then their beautiful talk last night with the hot chocolate, and the lovemaking, and … so, so much had happened… And, truth be told, it made her so very happy. And she hadn't yet told him. And so, then she told him, about the Baby Shower Margaret Brackenreid was throwing for her on Saturday. Surprising herself, she noticed the bubbly glee in her own voice with the news. " _A Baby Shower!_!" she marveled in her head, childlike wonder and joy flooding through her, for she truly had never thought such a thing would ever be.

He saw it – and it prompted him to hold on to her upper arms firmly and shake her just a bit with his excitement. He tilted his head, lifted an eyebrow and repeated, "A Baby Shower?!"

"Quite something, is it not?" she asked as her eyes dropped down to her belly.

"It is," he replied. The joy in William's voice only added fire to the flames. He placed his hands on her enlarged belly, embracing their child, and said again, "It truly is."

When he lifted his eyes back up to meet hers, she melted with love for him. There were shiny tears in his eyes, and she knew how happy he was. The emotion was beyond contagious, and tears immediately filled her eyes as well. So quickly they built, slipping down her cheek, prompting him to cup her face, to lovingly wipe a tear away with his thumb, before leaning in and kissing the next one away after it. Their embrace was warm, soft, complete. Only with great effort did he break it off, bow to her, scrunching his lips together and wrinkling his face, showing his admission to the difficulty he was finding in leaving her.

She accompanied him downstairs. They decided it would be best to put his sling on under his coat, using his maroon scarf to bundle him up as much as possible. As he kissed her good-bye, a Shakespearian quote came to her mind, prompting her to say, "I'm afraid you have no choice today but to ' **suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune** ,' William." She laughed at her own joke at his expense, knowing how miserable he was about being forced to wear a sling. Adding insult to injury she thought of another joke, giggling still as she said it, "A William joke for William." Immediately afterwards she laughed some more, for she knew it was such a bad joke, and she would need to explain it. "Get it?" she asked, " **William** Shakespeare," she offered.

His deadpan was to die for as he wrinkled his face and tucked his chin to scowl down at her disapprovingly, and she bent in half, laughing at the whole thing. She was positive she heard him chuckle, though, and shake his head disbelievingly, right before he closed the door.

# # # # # # # # # #

When Detective Murdoch had arrived at the station it was mid-morning. All eyes dropped to his sling, which roused a quick round of teasing, "Must be nice to have your own personal doctor for a wife," and "Not to mention that same doctor's paycheck," and "Yeah, and in Detective Murdoch's case her vast wealth that goes along with it," with the Inspector finally concluding it with, "It's a wonder the man shows up to work at all." As usual, their joshing brought a rewarding rosy flush to the detective's cheeks.

Then, fortunately getting down to business, the Inspector explained that he had used the list that the manger had given to Crabtree last night to arrange for the interviews of the Davies employees. The men on the list would be available for interviews, as well as the owner, Thaddeus Davies, and the manager, Liam Mulligan, at Davies slaughterhouse, starting around noontime. Murdoch asked to have Constable Hogan be one of the constables to come along so he could identify the man who he had suspected on Saturday had recognized the photographs of the victim, Ieva, and her husband. They would also need to bring along Crabtree to take the men's fingermarks.

Now, having had some time to recover from his horrific night hanging from the meat-hook and nearly meeting his maker, William was realizing he had been so out of it after being rescued that he had forgotten some important points for the case. He regretted not going with the Davies manager, Mr. Mulligan, to his office when he compiled the list of workers from that day's afternoon and evening shifts (corresponding to the time of his and Jackson's attack and abduction). For one thing, he would have liked to see if the man's office had a green carpet or rug in it, particularly one that would match the fibers found in the victim's nose and mouth. He planned to ask to conduct the interviews from Mulligan's office today (he hoped to check for a letter-opener or some other possible implement to match the murder weapon as well).

William also suspected that the burlap he and Jackson had been wrapped up in last night matched the burlap the victim, Ieva, had been wrapped in, but he had not thought to collect the burlap sheets as evidence. They would need to try to find them and bring them to the morgue for Miss James to examine.

It frustrated him that he could not remember what their attackers looked like. William rubbed his forehead and tried to focus. It had been dark, but at least he should be able to ascertain their heights. He exhaled sharply, " _Nothing_ ," he thought, " _I can't even get how many of them there were._ " He would see what Jackson could remember later when the constable came in for his shift. A quick wave of guilt flooded through him as he wondered if Jackson shouldn't be wearing a sling too. Then he heard Julia telling her joke again from this morning, her voice in his head, "I'm afraid you have no choice today but to ' **suffer the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune** ,' William," and then the men teasing him about being cared for by her. He sighed. True, he didn't want to have to wear the sling, but he had to admit, he did love to know how well cared for he was, how lucky he was to have her as his wife… And then his thoughts conjured up a reminder that he had never actually called Ettie. He checked his pocket watch, " _Not enough time right now… besides it's only about nine o'clock in the morning there."_ He would have to just add it to his list.

# # # # # # # # # #

By the time they returned to the station after conducting the questioning of the workers and the collection of fingermarks, William sat in his office and reflected, disappointed that the whole endeavor seemed to have garnered very little. All of the men claimed to have seen nothing related to the attack on himself and Constable Jackson yesterday, and further none of them said that they had noticed any of the other men leave their work areas. The man who had spoken to him and Jackson yesterday afternoon, right outside of the "butchering room," claimed he had gone right back to work loading up the butchered meat into the meat-packing storage area, where it is prepared to be shipped out to abattoirs, some of it loaded up on refrigerated train cars to be shipped out to Buffalo, or NYC, or other cities. The worker claimed to have told no one else about the detective and his questions.

Probably the most annoying thing about the whole process had been the manager's reluctance to let William into his office, claiming he had important phone calls to make. The man even managed to have his own interview take place in the makeshift interview room, interrupting another man's questioning, saying he would only have a short window for the questioning, and it needed to be done right then. William did manage to get into Mr. Davies, the owner's, office – finding there was not a green rug of any kind in there. " _Besides_ ," he thought, " _Davies isn't big enough to have been able to use enough force to be our killer_." He couldn't tell from the owner's reaction whether or not he had been lying about not recognizing Ieva or her husband. But, it did seem that nearly every man he had questioned today was likely lying about not recognizing the husband. He was tempted to pull out his old pneumograph! He couldn't help it – the path was blazed into the circuitry of his brain – the second he thought of the lie detector machine, he saw it in his mind again, the blue liquid surging up into the glass coil, and then what Julia had looked like when he turned to see her face, knowing for certain in that instant that she could tell that he was in love with her. The preponderance of emotions ran through him; fear, embarrassment, and so much love – undeniable in its strength.

Dropping the photographs of Ieva and her husband back down on his desk, he sighed again. He picked the husband's picture back up. With another sigh, he opened his desk drawer and pulled out Ieva's locket, opening it to reveal the empty space where both of their photographs would have been. He reminded himself that they had been fortunate enough to find a fingermark – likely from the killer – here, where the tiny picture of one of the lovers would have been. Placing the opened locket on his desk, over the two photographs of the couple, William rested his chin in his hand and contemplated the love it seemed that the two of them had felt for each other… And how it reminded him of himself and Julia… And then his mind replayed the beautiful memories, of him putting Julia's locket, a locket so very similar to this one, with his own picture cut out from a newspaper to join with Julia's picture, from so many, many years ago, and then he saw himself putting her locket around her neck, and kissing her so tenderly… and then lying in bed with her the next morning, and spooning with his body tucked behind hers, so lovely, and his fingers finding her locket between her naked, luscious breasts…

" _She was trying to find him,_ " he cut himself off from his thoughts, his mind focusing back to the case. He knew then, that he was fairly certain Ieva's husband was already dead when she had been killed, and a sense of grief, that he imagined she had probably felt, slipped into his heart, for he also figured, Ieva probably had learned that her husband was dead, and with that awareness, she would have known that she had lost, both, her son and her husband.

William caught himself, " _Focus on solving the case_ ," he coached himself. " _Constable Hogan's Saturday worker,_ " (the man who he had suspected also had lied about not recognizing the photos), " _he was not one of the men questioned today. I guess it's possible he doesn't work on Mondays…_ "

There was a knock at his open office door. Higgins ducked his head in to say that they had found over sixty men who had been found dead in the Toronto area, from July 15th until when Ieva's body was found in November, who could have been the husband based on the criteria of being thirtyish and of Eastern- European descent. "We are still working on determining which of them would have been of large stature, sir," he added. William reminded himself that he had figured the husband was big because of the large coats Ieva had been using as blankets in her room and by the appearance of the man in Ieva's photograph of her husband).

"Good," William replied.

He asked Higgins to close the door. It seemed as good a time as any to call Ettie, as it was now nearly two o'clock in the afternoon in Winnipeg, and she would likely be awake.

# # # # # # # # # #

Terrence Meyers could not seem to wipe the smile off of his face. His spy games had once again brought him to Winnipeg – _and that meant Ettie!_ The smile was not a response to how helpful Miss Weston was with his spying, although her position as the Madam of what was surely the finest brothel in all of Canada did lend itself to her knowing much about the internal workings of their fine country's most powerful men. No, it was the woman herself that seemed to launch the butterflies within him. Deep down, he knew he had broken the one most important rule for a good spy – he had fallen in love. And to make matters worse, she was the type of woman from whom he could not hide this fact. He made his best effort, however, and often found he was able to hide his forbidden love, at least at times, from himself.

But, this was not one of those times. They were together, tangled within the throes of passion, upstairs in bed in her elegant boudoir… when the phone rang.

"Don't answer it," Terrence's scratchy voice demanded as he kissed up from the outside of her rounded bosom to her armpit.

"Hello… Miss Weston," Ettie said into the receiver, having lifted it from the phone next to the bed. Ettie pretended to ignore her lover, yet, she slipped the silky sheet covering them lower, letting the cool air kiss her skin, down lower. Terrence reveled in the opportunity to explore further.

"Will," she declared, "It's so lovely to hear your voice."

Her tone alerted Meyers' jealousy, " _Too fond of whoever that is,_ " he thought. This he needed to nip in the bud! He crawled back up to Ettie's face, kissed across her ear… Whispered, "Tell him you're busy," and kissed her lips. He could hear the man's voice in the phone. Later he would remember that it was vaguely familiar. He would wonder who this caller was. But for now, he only wanted one thing – Ettie – and he wanted her all to himself – and he wanted her now.

Ettie broke free of her lover's kiss. Inhaling, needing to catch her breath, she said into the phone, "No, detective, I'm not alone…"

Meyers placed his hand over to the phone on the night table – fumbling around, hunting for the button to push to hang it up…

As she shoved at Terrence's hand knocking it away from the phone, Ettie hurried to say, "I'll have to call you back…" And Terrence once again covered her lips with a kiss.

So clearly he could hear the man's distinct voice in the phone ask, " _What would be a good time?_ " He pressed harder into Ettie's mouth, stopping her from answering. Meyers reached over to the night table to the phone once again, his fingers rounding the edge of where the receiver would rest on the phone… only down and over an inch to press the button down…

Ettie broke free of the kiss and said, breathless, rushing, "Six," before Terrence disconnected the call and mounted her, taking what it was he wanted.

# # # # # # # # # #

William held the receiver out in the air, as if examining it could answer his questions. Wrinkling a corner of his mouth, he reassured himself that Ettie would be calling him back – tonight, at around eight o'clock Toronto time. He would have to wait. He would miss dinner… with Ruby. He called Julia and gave her the bad news.

William headed over to the morgue. They had recovered the burlap sheets he and Jackson had been encased in when they were hung up on the meat-hooks. Miss James had been able to determine that they did match the burlap sheet Ieva's body had been wrapped in to transport the body to the alleyway behind the brothel where they had found it. This provided a link between Ieva's murder and the Davies slaughterhouse – but that link could only be highly indicative of a connection if these same burlap sheets were not used in other local businesses as well. William put a constable onto investigating who manufactured the burlap sheets used at Davies slaughterhouse and then determining what other local businesses they were sold to.

The detective called Mr. Davies' local competitor, a man who largely dealt in beef rather than pork, a very wealthy and powerful man who ran businesses throughout all of Canada, named Edward Burns. He set up a meeting with him for tomorrow.

William sat in his chair staring at the phone, contemplating the idea of contacting his half-brother Jasper out in Vancouver. Cattle and beef were major businesses over in Western Canada, and Jasper's position in the Royal Canadian Mounted Troops would likely render him knowledgeable about some of the inner workings of this whole trade.

Higgins stopped in on his way out and reported that they had been able to narrow down possible deaths that aligned with Ieva's husband's disappearance to thirty-seven men, most of whom were of unknown size so could not be ruled out, but about ten of whom were definitely of large stature.

It was not until eight-fifteen that Ettie called back. Starting out with the personal, wanting to make it clear that he had no interest in re-establishing their old romance, for he remembered her flirtatious ways when they last saw each other when her "Music Academy" here in Toronto was closed down – William was quick to tell her that he had married. He thought she did not seem surprised.

"Tell me, Will, you are working on a case I'm sure... What can I do to help?" Ettie asked.

William was grateful to be able to get to the point. He explained, "We have a woman who was murdered here in Toronto, but I believe she was from your area. She had a train ticket from Winnipeg, from little over a week ago, in her purse. I thought you might know her… She was found behind a brothel here… and she had… marks on her body, from uh…"

Ettie couldn't help but smile to herself, her heart beamed for she knew William Murdoch so well, and it struck such a chord in her, knowing how uncomfortable he was with sexual matters. She would save him the struggle, "You suspect she was involved in sado-masochistic prostitution then?" she interrupted. She heard his sigh of relief, the sound surging her feelings for him even more.

"Yes. Exactly," he rushed to answer, rubbing his brow.

Ettie informed him that she did not allow her girls to partake in any such activity, "So," she warned, "I might not be of much help."

William asked for her help anyway and described what they knew about the victim. "We have a first name, Ieva…"

Ettie felt a small jerk in her memory – that was familiar…

His voice continued in the phone, "She was about thirty years old, Lithuanian I believe. She was of outstanding beauty, Ettie, blond, blue-eyed… She had a son…"

Ettie blurted out, "And a husband," her voice betraying her optimism that she thought she knew the woman and could be of help.

"Yes!" William exclaimed.

"I believe I do know her," Ettie continued. "She did work for me; it was years ago though… The marks you describe must be quite old, Will. She did not do anything like that when she was with me," she said.

William felt a disturbing leaking of nausea into his gut as he remembered and said, "Yes, there were many marks that were old scars, but there were also some that our coroner claims were made within the last few months."

Ettie's tone lowered to match his, "That's not that surprising – she came to me looking for work… and I had to turn her away. I simply can't have women with me who might have a jealous husband in their lives who could show up and make trouble. She was so desperate… I sent her to the men over by the train station. She must have gone there… and gotten involved with that kind of work. She would have done anything, I think. Her son was sickly…"

William cleared his throat and pushed his thoughts away from his imaginings of Ieva being whipped, and allowing such a thing in order to be able to save the life of her son who had died in the end anyway. _Back to the case at hand_ , he reminded himself and asked, "Did you get her surname, Ettie?"

There was a pause as she tried to remember. "She gave me her maiden name – Gagas. It was the name I had known her as. I'm sure she no longer used it. Um, I don't think she actually said her married name…" she answered, hearing him sigh, sensing his disappointment. Then, her face lit up, "Will," she declared, "She said her husband's name was Adomas. I remember because I thought it was so poetic – you know, Adam and Eve."

"Adomas!" William exclaimed, "Wonderful. That will be of help. Thank you Ettie."

Contentedly she replied, "I'm glad I could be of help, Will. I'd be glad to follow up, to see where she ended up working, to try to find out more about her son and her husband."

"Oh Ettie, I'm not sure I can ask that of you," he said.

"Nonsense Will," she told him. "I am so very glad to hear from you. I would like to have a good reason to keep in touch… I will call you when I know…"

William remembered, as his eyes caught on his sling, that he wanted to ask her something else, "Ettie, there may be some connection with the meat industry… There is a man here, Thaddeus Davies, he owns the Davies Slaughterhouse here in Toronto. He claims he had business recently in Winnipeg. Have you heard of him?"

Ettie knew the man. He frequented her establishment whenever he was in town. " _Come to think of it_ ," she thought to herself, " _That was probably why Meyers was here in the first place_." Clearing her throat first, finding she had an unpleasant reaction to remembering that Terrence Meyers rarely came to Winnipeg solely to see her, she answered, "Yes, Thaddeus never fails to come by my Coffee House when he is in town. If it helps, I can verify that he was here."

"It does," William replied. "Um, Ettie, how about Edward Burns?" he asked. He heard her chuckle through the phone.

"Will, you know that my establishment deals with the wealthiest men in Canada," she said.

He took that as a 'yes.'

Slightly changing the subject, and her tone becoming more personal, with an air of concern, she added, "Will, this meat business is… messy. I, well…you should be careful."

Never liking to be coddled, he found his eyes had dropped down onto his sling again. Emotions collided inside of him, stunning him momentarily. He was looking down at direct proof that what she said was true, and it tempted him to fear. He battled it with insult, needing to rise once again to life's seemingly endless challenge for him to be a man. Avoiding dealing with his inner turmoil, he began to close, "Thanks Et…"

And she interrupted him with a thought, "Do you think her husband's disappearance could have anything to do with that bad meat that ended up killing a bunch of people this summer? I mean, it was soon after those newspaper stories that Ieva came to me, saying that she needed money, it was around then that her husband had probably stopped sending her money."

"But that whole spoiled-meat mess involved American companies, no?" he asked.

A memory occupied Ettie's mind, slowing her response, a memory of a conversation she had had with Terrence. He had asked her about Armour, and Brown, and Durham. Meyers knew these men also came to her "Coffee House" whenever they were in Canada. There was reason to believe there might be connections between these American Meatpacking magnates and the businesses here in Canada. "Those owners visit here also," she replied, her voice seemingly more dire.

He took her tone to imply, once again, that she was urging him to be careful, prompting him to let out a frustrated sigh. "Thank you Ettie. You have been of great help," he said.

"Will, if you ever get over this way, please come to see me. I would so love to see you again… And I'm so glad to hear that you are doing well. I suppose married life is treating you well?" she asked, delaying their goodbyes.

Uncomfortable with the topic, although confused by his reaction, because there was absolutely no doubt of his marital bliss, he said, "Oh yes, I'm quite happy. Thanks for asking, and you take care, Ettie."

"So long Will," she answered before he hung up the phone.

His eyes betrayed the rapid movement of his thoughts as they jumped from his wedding ring, to his sling, to the photos of Ieva and Adomas. He lifted the picture of Adomas – now the man had a name. " _Adam and Eve_ ," Ettie had said, and again his thoughts drifted to their locket, then to Julia's… and his locket. He pulled out his pocket watch, already eight-thirty. As he turned to get his hat and coat, he noticed a bounce in his step. He recognized the feeling – the thrill of the hunt, he was on the chase, had some new clues at hand. It surged a sense of optimism and capability through him.

His homburg now on his head, sadder thoughts floated before him, for the clues could portend an ominous turn, and the ultimate plight of the victims – for he now suspected that there really were _two_ victims in this story, in this case… " _Adomas_ ," the man's name played in his head again. " _The death records! Of course!_ " William's brain screamed out at him. He hurried to Higgins' desk, quickly looking through the records of men Higgins had found who could have been Ieva's husband.

Stunned and elated, he fell into Higgins' chair. There was a man, and only one man, with this first name, "Adomas." William held up the sheet of paper, now they had his whole name, " _Adomas Baltavesky_." Overwhelmed by the conflicting surges within him, his emotions turbulent as if oil had been shaken with water inside of him, his joy for his success on the case, such an important discovery, secluded in tiny little pockets that would bubble through him, alternating and throbbing with pouches of his despair, for it was certain now, Ieva had been looking for the love of her life, and he was already dead, and she would likely have come to know that she had been in the end, all alone.

William read the small amount of print on the record. Adomas' body had been found in between two train cars in early August. The location was in Stationhouse #5's jurisdiction. William left a note for George to contact Stationhouse #5 and get the man's file tomorrow morning. With that he headed home.

# # # # # # # # # #

Julia and Ruby sat in the living room talking over a glass of wine while they waited for William to arrive. A debate they had engaged in earlier over dinner arose once again, over the benefits of having only one lover vs. having a series of lovers.

"Jules," Ruby lectured, "It is like eating the exact same meal every day. The senses become bored with it." Then her face took on such a mischievous shine when she added, "Even if that meal is as intriguing as William Murdoch."

Her sister had always been quite open about her attraction to William, so Julia pushed her urge to react to the obvious comment aside with a sigh, and responded from her heart, "Each time is truly different Ruby. I mean there are sort of types, or… Well, William and I have been talking about it lately. He says it's a bit like the weather, and that there are different types of storms. You know, like a warm steady rain, or a sudden quick burst, or an electrifying thunderstorm…" Julia's face revealed her enthusiasm, showed her happiness.

Ruby's heart warmed in knowing how content her sister was with her love-life, prompting her to give Julia a smile.

Putting her glass down on the coffee table, Julia's mind turned back inside of herself as she thought of how it felt to make love with William, attempting to pin down why it was so special, and then she searched for a way to describe the profound feelings. She lifted her chin and her bright, blue eyes met her sister's, their intensity filling her statement with a sense of awe and importance and intimacy. "When it gets down to what it is like when William touches me in that one unique way, and in that one solitary place, where no one else in the world ever has, nor ever will, nor ever could… Well, it is not like eating really, it is more like breathing. And there is only one element that keeps me alive, that makes me thrive, out of all of the elements that occupy the air – William is my oxygen, there is nothing, there is no one else, who will ever do," she said.

They speculated that either, Ruby had just not yet found, "the one," or that she just was not the type of woman who ever would be satisfied with just one man. The sisters agreed it was more likely the latter.

Changing the subject to a lighter one, Ruby's eyes perused the walls and the ceiling and she said, "William has designed an outstanding house, Jules. It is magnificent."

Julia pushed down a sudden urge to show the house off even more and take Ruby to see some of the secret passageways, for she and William had agreed to keep them _secret_. She remembered the first day they had moved in, and their kissing and undressing each other right in the foyer, and then rushing to the secret passageway in the dining room and making love there. She chuckled to herself remembering all the noise they had made banging against the walls… Suddenly she remembered Ruby was looking at her. "Yes, I love it," she replied with a quick smile. "He has included everything we could ever want, a workroom, a lab room, a playroom for our child… perhaps even children," she added. They talked of the marvel of Julia's pregnancy for a time.

Before William got home, Julia warned Ruby that William had suffered an injury the night before and would be wearing a sling. She asked Ruby not to make a big deal out of it because she had found it challenging to convince William to wear the sling at all, and she was certain as a doctor that it would greatly improve his healing from the injury.

This explained the scornful frown on Julia's face soon after William finally arrived, when Ruby proceeded to gush worry for, "poor William," upon the sight of him in the foyer…

"William, you poor dear," Ruby declared, somehow managing to get to his side to fret over him before an enormously pregnant Julia could manage to thrash about and free herself from the chair to waddle over to join them.

Julia did succeed in making it to the foyer in time to see the discomfort written all over William's face with Ruby's fussing, before he replied, "Oh, I'm fine Ruby," and trying to step back, asked, "It's so good to see you. How was the trip?" William's big brown eyes followed Ruby's movements around him, and Ruby seemed to be completely unaware of the shock the modest man was suffering with her flirtatious attentiveness.

Julia gasped silently, then smiled and shook her head, advising herself to harness her jealousy – reminding herself how much William loved her and… how she knew, truly knew in her heart, that her husband was wishing with all his might that his sister-in-law would stop putting her hands all over him! Ruby had already managed to help him out of his coat and his maroon scarf… and Julia laughed out loud at the look on his face as he quickly took hold of Ruby's bold hands, stopping her from her progress in removing his tie!

"I just thought you would want to relax now that you're home William. And I know it must be difficult – with your injury," Ruby said, reluctantly taking her hands back to herself. "What happened to you detective?" her eyes fell to the sling, then shot back up to ask him, "Were you shot… when you bravely took up pursuit and apprehended a dangerous armed suspect?"

Julia shook her head more vigorously, matching her level of disbelief. She laughed again as William gave her a look, his expression a mixture of astonishment and begging, and some odd measure of apology. The whole thing prompted Julia to declare, "My goodness, Ruby! Let the man get in the door…" as she slid past her sister to stand before him, "And let his wife kiss him 'hello' at least." Satisfaction pumped through her as his one good arm wrapped around her and he kissed her – a kiss that was tender and surprisingly deep, for she felt the heavenly slipperiness of his tongue softly breach her lips, briefly, before it broke off. "Welcome home, Mr. Murdoch," she said, "I missed you," her voice now lower and closer to his ear.

"And I you," he replied.

Julia stepped back and said more publicly, "Some dinner detective?"

As the three of them turned to head for the kitchen, William stopped and glanced at the rather gigantic suitcase at the foot of the stairs, prompting Julia to chuckle. He leaned closer to her and asked, "How long is she staying?"

Ruby, now catching on to what had taken the couple's attention, rushed to defend her abundant wardrobe, explaining, "I am an experienced traveler and have found that it makes the whole experience better to be prepared."

Julia answered her husband's question, "Five nights William. She returns to New York the day after the Baby Shower – Sunday."

"Oh," he said, lifting his eyes from the huge suitcase to show his wide expression with his eyebrow raised in question. He gave Ruby a quick smile.

Julia added, as she tucked her arm into William's good arm, and the three of them stepped off towards the kitchen, "And she was hoping that, _'poor William'_ would be the one to carry the monstrosity up the stairs."

He wrinkled his face with the recognition, "Of course. I would expect nothing else," he stated plainly.

The two ladies accompanied him while he ate at the kitchen table. He filled them in on the latest discoveries in the case and Ruby told them both about the various stories she was working on for the New York Times.

At one point in the conversation, Julia looked over at William, while Ruby expounded on one of her myriad adventures. He was looking down at the middle of the table, his eyes far off and soft, as he chewed away, clearly quite hungry. And she knew, she knew he was remembering making love to her on that table the night before. She reached over, placing her hand on his forearm under his sling, drawing his eyes to hers. They held each other's gaze for a breath, a beautiful, somehow silent and slowed, and private, breath, before William looked away to put his fork down and take a sip of water. When his eyes rushed back to hers, he saw her glance at the wall behind him – the very spot where she had made love to him, where the intensity of the storm they had shared was so severe that she suffered a cut to her lip. She reached up and touched that very cut, bringing a blush to his face, and then such a lovely smile to hers.

They hadn't noticed… Ruby had stopped. The silence registered first, so quickly followed by the flood of being caught somehow, with a piercing ringing in the ears. William cleared his throat and scurried to take another sip of water. Julia, so cool under pressure, turned to meet the sparkling, triumphant blue eyes of her younger sister – meeting her challenge – and said, as she lifted her wine glass to her lips, "You were saying Ruby?" Truth be told, Julia was loving every moment of it.

William tried so hard to focus on Ruby's story, but his mind bolted away with him. " _How could it be that whenever Ruby visits he found it so… dizzyingly hot?!_ " he wondered.

They packed the dirty dishes into the dish-washing cupboard, sharing a laugh with Ruby about their trials and tribulations with the soap suds. William hauled Ruby's mammoth suitcase up to their guestroom. Then the three of them settled into the living room, warm and cozy after William had made a fire. William tilted back in his reclining chair. He even loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. Julia's and Ruby's conversation continued, lively and at times intense, at others carefree.

It was Ruby who noticed first, that William had fallen asleep. Her eyes fixed in his direction. "Jules," she changed her voice to a whisper, tugging Julia's attention to her husband.

She wondered, for a moment, if she would ever gaze upon William Murdoch sleeping and not feel this delightful surge of love and warmth in her heart. Julia consciously reminded herself to breathe, knowing that the air would soothe and fulfill her as it flowed through her love-stricken chest, like a crackling fire on a cold winter's night. _My God, she loved this man, sometimes so that it ached._

"Jules?" Ruby's voice called in the distance.

Slowly, as if from a trance, Julia turned away from him. Her eyes re-focused. A flutter of embarrassment crossed her face, prompting a smile.

Ruby leaned closer from across the coffee table and with her voice gentle, she said, "You really do love him, hmm?" with a soft nod.

Julia was elated that her sister could see it! That she understood! With her face beaming, Julia nodded, "Mm-hmm," she admitted, joyously. "It's like I forget that he is just a human, just a man, like any other, for he is so central to my very being," she said, her quietness amplifying the mystery of the feelings she described more so than keeping them secluded. "I need him so much that it… it actually feels dangerous. I never imagined I could feel this way about a person… never. And I believe he feels the same way about me…" Julia's eyes turned back to him as he slept, warm, safe and content, and her thoughts cascaded with her worries from last night as she watched him sleeping there, garnering a sling but virtually unharmed despite it all, "And it scares me so, sometimes," she admitted aloud.

Betraying the extent of her emotions, tears had formed in her eyes, one trickling down her cheek as she returned her gaze to her sister. Julia quickly reached up and brushed it away, with a tiny chuckle. "It's silly, I know," she claimed.

"Nonsense," Ruby said. "It isn't possible to love so profoundly without risking hurt, Jules," Ruby whispered as she touched her sister's cheek and rubbed away another tear. "Perhaps we have come to the reason why I am unable to find the one, after all," she concluded, giving her sister an affectionate smile.

Julia nodded in agreement, "Perhaps," she said. She explained that William had had a particularly hard and long night the night before and she was not surprised that he had fallen asleep. They decided to head up to bed. Julia woke William and escorted him upstairs. Ruby went to her room at the end of the hall as Julia paused at their bedroom door to say good-night before she closed it behind them.

She helped William undress and prepare for bed. She decided to let him sleep without the sling. Once they were tucked in together, she reached over him and turned out his lamp, and the darkness quickly surrounded them, highlighting the sounds of their breaths. He guided her to lay her head on his chest, and the sound of his heartbeats joined the peaceful melody of the moment. Julia's mind had just stumbled upon the memory when his voice rose up, the vibrations tingling marvelously in her ear as it rested upon him.

"I regret to say," he started, "my promise from this morning has gone unfulfilled."

He felt her hug him tighter and snuggle deeper into him with a gentle wiggle. "There is no word I trust more than that of William Murdoch," she answered, "I consider it only a minor delay."

"Good," he replied. She could tell that he was already falling into slumber, and she knew despite the darkness, that there was a smile on his face.

The couple awoke before the alarm, in the morning darkness. Rubbing her cheek back and forth across his unshaven jawline, Julia said, her voice both sleepy and husky, "Mmm… I so love this," as her breath flooded down over his naked chest. Lustfully, her lips explored his stubble, kissing, while stroking him with her delicate fingers, tantalizingly adding a tingly scratch with a fingernail now and again, and her plushy cheek glided along his cheek until her lips found his ear, and her breath rattled deeper and deeper into his brain. She inhaled and then her hot breath flowed over him again as she added, "So manly, and rough, and wild."

Delighting in the feel of her ear as it slid across his scraggly face, William's raspy, dry voice answered, "Perhaps I shouldn't shave it then," and she felt his lips smile before they tucked in and slurped in the sensitive and hungry skin of her neck.

" _Oh that is delicious,_ " she thought, opening to give him access momentarily. "Oh, you will have to shave it, William," Julia replied as she pushed back against him, denying him being on top. Returning her cheek to his, she covered him crawling up on her hands and knees, and she rubbed across his morning stubble once more. "This is mine, only for me, this more primitive aspect of you," her whispers explained. She rocked back to sit over him and reached up to pull her nightgown off over her head to join him in his nakedness, flinging it out into the early morning shadows.

His hands, calloused and scratchy, took her hips, and moved up the sides of her body, his thumbs stretched over her outstretched belly, gently reminding of her pregnancy, while he enjoyed the rippling of her ribs under his fingers. "Turn on the light," he requested.

Intentionally keeping her body close to his face, she reached over to the night table and found the little chain, pulling it down with a click that spilled a yellow glow into the room, illuminating the heavenly smell of her bosom dangling so enticingly close to his face. "All mine," her scratchy voice said when he first felt the marshmallowy softness of her overtake him. She moved, guiding the pliable, globular curves of her bosom along the contours of his face, scratching the tender skin through his rough, bristly cheeks as it glanced across him.

The pleasure unbearable, William moaned and took a hold of her ribcage, moaning again as he finally pulled her down closer and put his mouth on her, and then Julia moaned as well, as he took her flesh in.

" _Oh my God_ ," she thought, "William," she whispered. Her insides twisted and twirled, seeming to wring endless slippery drops out of her. _She wanted this man. Oh my God, she wanted this man deeply._ Her fingers tangled into his hair and pressed his face tighter into her bosom. "Please, William," she whispered again.

He felt her fingers begin their adventure, sliding down, pushing firmly into his chest, down along his stomach. She pulled back, freeing her flesh from his lips, him stretching in an effort to follow her, to keep her, but yielding as her mouth took a hold of his pectoral muscle, hard, sucking him in with a rousing moan, rough and unforgiving. She would leave a mark. William's mind spun out of control; from this height it was such a struggle to breathe. Her fingers prickled the hair surrounding him, announcing her imminent arrival.

"Mine," she said again, as he suddenly felt the cold air touch his wet skin, for she had released his chest, and he knew she would take him, and he would fall from this abysmal height…

Demanding such effort it forced a groan from his throat, he stopped her progression, regaining his self-control. His chest heaved scrumptiously up and down out of breath as he asked, "Where do you think you are going?"

"William," she teased, between kisses along his chest, "You know exactly where this is going." Again she took his flesh into her mouth, sucking the taste of him in, and her fingers re-established their hold, and my God, she could feel he was so aroused, and their moans mingled together in the humid air before they drifted away.

William's breathing raged, hot, and rapid. There could never be enough air! He was dizzy… And she was climbing over him… And her body was absolutely gorgeous as it jiggled when she moved… And _my God_ , she was hovering so close… And he just knew he could reach that high… And he knew, for he heard his own voice screaming, from somewhere far off, he knew he needed to stop her, even though for the life of him he couldn't remember why… And he pushed through the dense gyroid of his desires… and he stopped her, holding her hips tightly, keeping her weight up above him. His eyes firm into hers, warning, he heaved for air, and he swallowed to be able to make a sound through the dryness, and he said, "Julia, you need to stop."

She knew he was right, but she offered to explain, "I wanted you to feel how much I want you."

He pulled her down to his chest and rolled them both over. "You are playing with fire, Mrs. Murdoch," he said, as he adjusted his body over hers to avoid placing his weight on the baby. "What makes you think I can control this?" he asked as his mouth submitted to his urges and he kissed down to her bosom.

"You, William Murdoch?" she replied, breathless, "Your middle name is control." Her fingers scratched through his hair as she delighted in his kisses.

His voice beautifully muffled from within her bosom, he answered, chuckling for he was willing to play along, "Now, Dr. Julia Ogden, you know very well that my middle name is Henry." A gigantic smile grew on his face as he poked his head up into the air and declared, nodding with devilishness, an eyebrow cocked, "You will need to pay for this." It evoked a squeal of glee from her, inciting him to put a finger to his lips and, Shh," her. His eyes grew wide and then narrowed to threaten a reminder, "Ruby's in the house."

Julia nodded, recognizing the inherent danger, acknowledging that it was her noises that would likely betray them. She giggled as she brought a finger to her own lips and whispered, but oh so flirtatiously, "Make me pay William. My God, please, please, make me pay."

And so it was that William fulfilled his promise from the day before, and showered her with a delicious warm front, the soaking rain at times gentle, at other times severe and strong. He shared his stubble with every inch of her delectable body. And thus it was truly hers and only hers. And my God, how she savored and basked in the lovely outrageousness of it.

After he had held her in his arms for a time, and she recovered the cadence of her breathing and her heartbeats to match with his, and the spinning of the room slowed, and the wrinkles in the bed-sheet softened, then Julia returned to be on top once more. And once again, William hovered over the precipice, marveling in the height of his inevitable fall…

And then the blasted alarm clock rang. And he had to pause, reluctantly reaching over to silence the offending interruption. And Julia stopped what she was doing, delaying his urgent and delicious eruption of ecstasy, and it had been so very, very close, and she told one of her jokes, evoking a different kind of moan from him…

"Well William, this time you can't say I didn't encourage you to _**rise**_ with the alarm," she said, laughing at her own joke before she returned to the task at hand and her mouth became full, thus dampening the drifting off of her chuckling.

And in the end it was true, that he would have to, "suffer the slings and arrows," of life, and he knew there would be times that they would add up to be almost more than he could bear. And yet, he was grateful, for he knew it would be his very own _archer_ who tended to be the one slinging many of those arrows at him, and thus life would always be well worth living… And there was one arrow that was the most important one of all. And he would be forever grateful it had pierced his heart – that arrow was slung by _Cupid_ , and it had come to define his life, for he loved his archer, his one and only, unique and wonderful Julia, more than life itself.


	7. Chapter 7: PerseveringT

Murdoch in the Jungle_6_Persevering

Glad to be on time, William opened the door to the stationhouse. He counted his blessings that Ruby had still been in her bedroom when he and Julia had come down for breakfast – after what had been a lively morning of lovemaking. At least _he_ did not have to deal with her brash teasing, although it was possible Julia still would have to later, after Ruby arose. " _Perhaps she didn't overhear us,"_ he thought, hoping his sister-in-law had slept deeply after her long travels from New York City, not to mention a healthy dose of wine – and besides, Julia had made an effort to diminish her… declarations.

He made a note to himself to ride his bicycle home tonight, despite the pain he felt from Julia's injections of penicillin into his buttocks, and the dreaded sling. He missed the exercise, and the time to think. His wheel remained in the constabulary stable, where the men had brought it after retrieving it at Davies Slaughterhouse the night he and Jackson had been attacked and hung up on meat-hooks. " _Was that really only two nights ago?"_ he marveled. Of course, the sling on his arm indicated that the healing time had been quite brief. A smile trickled across his face, however, for he had almost talked Julia out of making him wear it today. " _Tomorrow_ ," he thought.

No messages, he headed across the bullpen. "You must have been here quite early again, George," he greeted, "Very dedicated," he added with a nod. George Crabtree had always gone above and beyond the call of duty, but William had noticed he was pouring even more of himself into his work than usual as of late. He wondered if it wasn't a reflection on the younger man's loneliness. Crabtree's romantic history, William knew, had come complete with quite a few stings, losing Dr. Emily Grace and then Edna Brooks. Even his relationship with Nina Bloom seemed to have petered out.

"Yes sir," George replied, "Although I must say, I take it rather personally when our detective and one of our constables get strung up like a side of beef. I very much want to see these men caught."

"As do I, George, and it was pork, not beef," William corrected, his mind replaying the image of seeing the pig carcass destined for the whirring saw blade, even the smell of being surrounded by dead hogs penetrated into his psyche.

George tried to lighten the mood with a joke, claiming, "That's why they call it 'Hogtown' after all." At least the comment earned him a polite smile.

Lifting the death report William had left the night before from his desk, George moved on, "To that order sir, I see you have gotten somewhere in identifying Ieva's husband… So unfortunate that he was already dead, though I remember you had speculated that it would have been terribly painful for the man to have been alive only to find out that his wife had been killed and that his son had died as well."

Clamping his lips together and nodding, for he had imagined all too well how such a discovery would have felt if it were news about Julia and their child, he asked, "Have you contacted Stationhouse 5 yet George?"

"I did sir… right before you walked in. Their man at the desk took the message. I wasn't sure whether to leave it for their inspector or for the detective… I left it for Inspector Sanford," George said, now following the detective into his office and helping him deal with his coat while he was hampered by the cumbersome sling.

"That's fine George… Uh, I meant to ask you George, did you see a green carpet or maybe a rug in Mulligan's office… when you went with him to get the list of workers that night?" William asked.

"Well…" George paused, working to remember, "There was definitely a rug right inside of his door. The rest of the office had a wood floor, much like yours… Um, I know the color of the rug was dark. It was the middle of the night, so the lighting wasn't very good…"

It flashed inside of William stealing part of his attention, unable to be certain which hit him first, the sickening nausea, or the memory, of leaning down to pick the manager's lock, in the dark shadows of the inner area of Davies Slaughterhouse, and then being startled by their assailants. " _I dreamt about this last night_ …"his thought replacing the memory…

His arms held wide apart, George had continued and was now demonstrating the approximate dimensions of the rug inside the manager's office door, continuing, "…the office was opened before we got there – I believe the Inspector had made his phone calls to the manager and the owner from Mulligan's office. He might remember the rug..."

"Yes, I'll ask him. I see he is not in yet? William noticed.

An expression of disappointment took George's face as he realized, "Oh… That's right. There is a meeting of all of the Inspectors this morning. It means Inspector Sanford won't be in until later to get the message I left over at Stationhouse #5. Do you want me to call over there and have them give the message to Detective Dermott?"

William took a seat and answered, "No, that's alright George. Dermott would likely need to ask his inspector before he sent us the file anyway. How about the fingermarks we collected yesterday – any matches to the marks on Ieva's locket or the garbage-pail lid?"

"Higgins and I started yesterday, no matches yet. We still have about half of the men's fingermarks to go through," George replied.

"And have you checked Mulligan and Davies?" the detective inquired.

"No," George responded, I'll make sure we check their marks first thing. You seem particularly interested in Mulligan, sir. Can I ask why?"

William frowned. George was perceptive, and he had to admit that he was suspicious of the man, but he also knew he had very little reason to be. "Not much, George," he replied. "We know the killer was most likely a large man from the stab wound, it was a dull weapon – I thinking something like a letter-opener, and Mulligan is large. Also, we know Ieva asked for directions to Davies Slaughterhouse, and she was wrapped up in a burlap sheet that matched the ones Jackson and I were wrapped in… And we know her husband wrote her that he was coming into a big sum of money – and now we know that he was dead soon after that letter…

"So you think she would have gone to the manager about her missing husband and his expectation of this big windfall," George checked, "And Mulligan, being the man she would likely have contacted at Davies, killed her… What? – so she wouldn't go to the police. Or sir! Perhaps she was bribing Mulligan – asking for money to keep quiet?"

"Perhaps George. Nothing but speculation right now I'm afraid," William said.

Later, after the Inspector had arrived, William learned that the Inspector did remember the rug at Mulligan's office door, and that it was green – or at least he was fairly sure it was green. While they were speaking in the Inspector's office, Brackenreid got a call from Inspector Sanford over at Stationhouse #5. Sanford said that there would be no point in sending over Baltavesky's file because the death was ruled an accident. When pressed, Sanford held his ground – no file! William was furious, the Inspector had to admit that he was rather perturbed as well. William decided to go under him, so to speak. He would call Detective Dermott himself – speak to him detective to detective… And their coroner as well. He planned to have Julia make that call.

On his way back to his office, Higgins informed the detective that none of the men they had questioned from Davies Slaughterhouse had fingermarks that matched the marks on the victim's locket or the garbage-pail lid. William reached up to rub his brow. His headache was now becoming distracting. "Thank you Higgins," he answered, his frustration apparent, "Did you and George finish checking the marks of Davies and Mulligan?"

"Uh… yes si…"

"Where is George?" the detective interrupted.

Higgins squirmed uncomfortably, but answered quickly, "He said he had an idea… I believe it was about the case, sir. He asked me to inform you of our findings with the fingermarks."

William worked to manage his conflicting feelings. It annoyed him that the man would go off on his own chasing down a possible clue, but at the same time, he himself kept coming up empty handed, and he felt a surge of hope that maybe George was on to something. "Is that all he said?" he asked.

That's it sir… But whatever it was, he seemed to think of it right after we discovered that none of the fingermarks matched those of the killer," Higgins said.

"Thanks Henry," William replied and went into his office. He called Julia and asked her to call Dr. Reynolds over at Stationhouse #5 and ask him about the autopsy on Adomas Baltavesky. Deciding to take some action on his own before he called Detective Dermott, he called Higgins in.

"Henry, let's see if we can find out what train Baltavesky's body was found on last summer. Check the records," he instructed, "The death report is probably still on George's desk."

"Right away, sir," the young constable replied.

George had noticed that, not only did the men on the list the Davies manager had provided not come up with a match to the killer – but he also remembered that Constable Hogan had said none of the men they questioned yesterday was the one he thought had recognized the photographs of the victims when he asked on Saturday. Perhaps the killer and the man Hogan questioned were the same man?! And perhaps Mulligan had left his name off of his list of men working when the detective and Jackson were attacked on purpose! As George felt somewhat responsible for that list, for the detective had asked him to accompany the manager to his office to get it, he wanted to ask Mulligan if he had forgotten to include anyone that had been working that day. He parked his bicycle next to the pigpens and headed directly up to the manager's office. The door to Mulligan's office was open after George went up the stairs. Hearing Mulligan's voice, he observed that the man was on the phone once he stood at the threshold.

Mulligan signaled for him to come in, and as he stood there, constable helmet in hand, he noticed the letter-opener that Detective Murdoch had suspected might be the weapon on Mulligan's desk. His heart skipped a beat; he wanted to get it! He considered pinching it, hiding it in his helmet. _"Impossible without Mulligan noticing,_ " he thought. Mulligan said good-bye to the caller. George suspected it was his wife by their conversation.

"Constable Crabtree, right?" Mulligan said in greeting.

"Very good, sir," George replied. "I know you are busy. I just had a few questions… about the li…"

There was a knock at the door behind him. It was uncanny how the man had approached without making a sound.

"Mr. Mulligan, there is an emergency, sir. Seems some pigs escaped," the man's subversive voice stated plainly. George decided that the man had been one of the men they had questioned and that they had his fingermarks, though he could not remember the worker's name.

Making haste, Mulligan called out, seemingly already down the stairs, "I'll be right back constable."

George was immediately planning his theft, and still he noticed he overheard the manager ask for a rifle. Already slipping the letter-opener into his helmet, George considered his reaction to the thought at the pigs being shot for their escape, considering it inhumane and overdone. Yet, he acknowledged how crazy the thought was, for the creatures were on their way to being slaughtered anyway. Quickly, he looked around while alone. There was no sign of a green rug. As a matter of fact, there was a different rug than he had seen that night, currently in the place of the other, just inside of the door. He lifted it to examine the wood floor under it. There was no sign of blood there. " _Perhaps if the detective used his ultra-violet light,_ " he wondered. He heard Mulligan bark an order to everyone to get back to work, somewhat relieved that he had never heard a shot fired.

Mulligan explained that it was Davies policy to shoot escaped pigs to minimize the chance that they would hurt someone as they tended to be frantic and crazed upon escape. Fortunately, the men had been able to herd the hogs into an empty pen before he got down there. Returning to his seat, the phone rang again. "Just a minute, constable," he asked, picking up the receiver. He told the caller he would call back. "What did you want to ask me?" he inquired.

Getting right to the point, hoping to escape with his stolen bounty, George said, "I just wondered if you might have left someone off of the list you gave us?" He watched carefully, looking for deception, deciding he could not be sure either way.

After a moment to think, leafing through his rosters in one of his drawers, Mulligan claimed he was certain the list was complete. "But, perhaps I should see it once more just in case?" he asked. George handed him the list and he looked it over. "It looks good constable. Is there anything else, as you can see, I'm a very busy man," he asked, handing the list back to George.

George entertained the thought of asking if the rug was new, but decided against it, not wanting to tip the man off to the detective's suspicions. "No. You have been quite helpful. Thank you. I'll take my leave," George answered.

"Have a good day, Constable Crabtree," Mulligan said. He clearly would wait until George left to make his return phone call. Thus George left the premises harboring a feeling that something was going on.

He intended to check the garbage bins for any evidence that the rug had been disposed of. He stashed the letter-opener into his inside pocket. But just then, " _Holy moly! There it is! The exact same rug! It_ _ **is**_ _green…_ " George's thoughts trumpeted through his brain, his feet already running after the garbage wagon. The garbage collector had just dumped a bin, with the _green rug_ in it, into his refuse wagon! "Oi, you there… Stop. Toronto Constabulary!" George shouted across the Davies lot.

His yelling was for naught, the men seemed not to hear him and climbed into the wagon and headed away. " _Bike! Get the bike!_ " he screamed to himself in his head, the sound of his own strained breathing making it impossible for him to hear anything else. George took up chase. Although he soon lost sight of the refuse wagon, figuring they were headed for the dump, he arrived at the refuse pile only moments after they had dumped the load and were pulling back out for another load. The rug was in the pile!

George walked into station with the green rug and the letter-opener, and the claim from Mulligan that the list he had given the Constabulary was complete. Higgins greeted him, lifting his nose up out of one of many rather large books of the train schedules for 1904. Looking at the detective's door, Higgins told George that he had been missed.

Detective Murdoch was on the phone. George found his desire to show off his booty irresistible, knocking on the closed door. He gave the detective a smile through the side window and waved. William signaled for him to come in.

"Thank you Julia," William said into the phone, "I will wait to hear from you before I call over to Detective Dermott… Yes, that's true, many more ways…" William glanced up at George. Puzzlement overtook his face, as he noticed that George was hiding something behind his back. "As do I," he said into the phone, before he hung up.

"What have you George?" he asked immediately.

"Well sir, I went over to Davies Slaughterhouse…"

"George," William interjected, sounding both exasperated and concerned, "You know we have been trying to investigate potentially dangerous places _with_ fellow officers along. And after what happened to Jackson and myself there, Davies Slaughterhouse definitely qualifies as a potentially dangerous place – just ask my wife," he added dropping his eyes to the exasperating sling on his arm. He couldn't help it though; jubilation was seeping into him, for it was obvious, George had a break in the case!

"Of course, you're right sir…" George said, pausing and watching as the detective's eyes honed in on whatever pieces of the rug could be viewed from behind him.

"The rug!" William declared with a gigantic smile on his face, providing George with the reward he so wished for.

"Yes sir," George answered, pulling the small Persian-styled rug out into the open. William rushed to clear a place on the worktable, hampered in his progress by the sling. "I went to question Mulligan about the list of workers he complied for us," George said, "And I spotted this being dumped from a bin at Davies into the town refuse wagon… I had to chase them all the way to the dump – but it was there, right in the pile with lots of other items clearly from Davies Slaughterhouse. I noted the relative locations of the items and put them aside as evidence with the dump manager for us to retrieve later," George explained as the detective had finally cleared off sufficient space and he laid the rug out on the worktable. "There was a bunch of brown paper packaging that had been sent to Davies' address on top of this rug, and under it there were three or four roll center tubes from the burlap used at Davies – I saw large rolls of burlap just like them at Davies Slaughterhouse when I went to retrieve the burlap sheets you and Jackson had been wrapped in that night, sir," he said.

While William examined the top of the mostly green-colored rug, immediately noticing that the fibers would likely match those Miss James had collected from their victim's nasal passages and mouth, he instructed, "We will need to determine the burlap roll manufacturer's name and obtain evidence that they sold those burlap rolls to Davies – Have the lads check for serial numbers on the rolls in the pile with this rug at the dump and see if they have records that those particular rolls were sold to Davies Slaughterhouse."

With no visible signs of blood on the top of the rug, George helped William in turning it over to assess the bottom. George already knew what they would find! "Oh, look at that!" William declared excitedly. Much of one of the corners of the brown, matted underside of the rug had a visible reddish-brown stain. "Likely blood!" William continued, "I'll take this over to Miss James right away." He began to roll the rug up, adding, "She can test to see whether or not it is blood, and then if it is animal or human blood."

Interrupting him, a sly smile on his face, George said, "There's more detective." He pulled the letter-opener out of his inside pocket, lifting it proudly into the air. Glee filled his constable-heart as Detective Murdoch's eyes practically bugged out of his head!

"George, the letter-opener too!" William shrieked. William's mind darted down multiple paths, " _Where in the pile was it?_ " and, " _That looks like it will be a perfect match!"_ and, " _I wonder if it will have Mulligan's fingermarks?!_ " It was this last choice that made it to his lips, "George, before we have Miss James check to see if it matches the mold taken from the wound, let's test it for fingermarks." Grateful that they had already collected Mulligan's fingermarks, his brain hollered, " _If it has Mulligan's fingermarks on it, we've got him!_ "

Importantly, Of course, George already knew it would have Mulligan's fingermarks on it – for he had taken the letter-opener from the man's desk. It was his decision, right there and then, _not_ to say what came to his mind – that the letter-opener would have Mulligan's marks on it because it clearly was Mulligan's letter-opener – it would be this decision that George would soon come to regret. On some level, he understood that the detective did not know the exact means he had gone through in obtaining this particular piece of evidence, and further, that the detective had incorrectly assumed the letter-opener was _with_ the rug in the pile at the dump… But the detective was so excited…

William had George get the fingermarks from the letter-opener while he stopped in to share the newfound evidence with the Inspector before he took the items over to the morgue. Immediately, the Inspector identified the rug as matching the one he had seen the night William and Jackson had been abducted at Davies Slaughterhouse.

Crabtree knocked and stepped in, "A match, sirs," he said.

"Looks like you've got him, detective," the Inspector declared.

"Not yet, sir," William said through his smile, "But things are panning out. I'll head over to the morgue… See if the letter-opener matches the wound the weapon made in our victim, and check the stain on the rug to see if it is human blood, and the fibers compared to those collected from the victim too. Oh, and Inspector, we probably have two victims here. We're going to need Stationhouse #5's file," he added, rug now tucked under his good arm. William was feeling optimistic that Inspector Sanford from Stationhouse #5 would surrender the husband's file, now that they had evidence that implicated the manager at Davies Slaughterhouse in the murder of Adomas Baltavesky's wife.

Knowing Julia would refuse to discuss the juicier, personal… sexual matters Ruby so wanted to ask about while Eloise could overhear, she had accepted the light talk she and her sister shared over lunch. But now, they were alone. She had accompanied Julia down into their, "lab-room," and Julia was showing it off. Truth be told, Ruby could not care less about the details – for example, Julia was currently describing William's latest plan to create a refrigerated room where she could store and work with materials that needed to stay cold, even a corpse! _My God, the way her sister's face lit up when she talked about her husband's ideas._ There was no doubt the man was brilliant, and he found inspiration from almost anywhere – right now from his work on this meatpacking case and the refrigerated packing rooms they use – but Ruby so wished she could be spared all the minutiae. Now her sister was going on and on about some, " _pencil something_ ," and how it can help fight infection…

Julia removed a bunch of petri dishes out of the icebox. "This is the _Penicillium glaucum_ that I have been growing, to use to make the medication I am currently treating William with – for the laceration on his shoulder…"

" _So that's why he's wearing a sling_ ," Ruby thought.

Julia worked to prepare the next few injections, the salve to apply topically, as well as to make the pills William would take, while Ruby looked on. "As you likely already ascertained, William is… impatient, with being treated, so I am really using an exaggerated regiment consisting not only directly treating the wound, and oral treatment, but also intramuscular inj…"

Ruby interrupted, "So Jules, was your wedding night the first time you and William made love?"

Taken aback by the question, reminding herself that she shouldn't be – this is Ruby after all – Julia's mouth hung open momentarily before she forced herself to close it and decided she saw no harm in answering. "Well," Julia said, "It depends." A sly smile snuck onto Julia's face, for she knew such an answer would drive her sister crazy.

"Oh my God, Jules! What do you mean by that?" she asked. Ruby's blue eyes twinkled with excitement and she leaned closer.

"Well, it depends on whether or not you mean was our wedding night the first time we shared having orgasms, or if you mean is that the first time we had sexual intercourse," Julia answered, failing in not blushing as she did so, even though she had managed to keep her terminology rather clinical.

"Oh, now that is quite intriguing," Ruby said, her voice filled with the mystery and captivation of it all.

Julia yielded to her desire to giggle. "You mean because it implies that the two events did not occur at the same time, on our wedding night?" she asked, already knowing the answer.

"Oh, it definitely implies that!" Ruby agreed, "But, was it that… you had intercourse on your wedding night – and one or neither of you had an orgasm… At least not until some later time, OR… was it that… Well, what does it mean, exactly?" she wondered aloud.

Finding she could not say it while looking at her sister, Julia dropped her eyes, pretending to be paying attention to the penicillin in the petri dishes, and said, her voice scratchy and wavering, betraying her stress with this degree of detail and revelation of their intimacy, "Um, well… William and I had a little trouble waiting for our wedding night…"

" _Oh my God, this is amazing!_ " Ruby's mind screamed with glee. "Go on," she greedily insisted, hoping with all her might that her sister wouldn't lose her nerve.

Inside of Julia's head, it was all there, and it was so exquisitely beautiful – their history. The early signs of their attraction for each other, William's being jealous of Isaac, the blue liquid shooting up the tube of his "truthilizer," his asking her to the Dinosaur Ball, and their dance lessons together, and him as her "Greek God" after she stabbed Orville, and then their first kiss – that sumptuous, heart-pounding, womb-throbbing first time with the absinthe and the picnic, and then so much more going forward, all the way to the night they spent together in her father's lake-house…. And… _could she really tell Ruby about all of this?_

Ruby had been watching closely, as Julia's face betrayed her excitement and love with whatever she had been remembering, but now Ruby sensed hesitation, and it sent her heart racing. Fortunately, being a reporter, she knew exactly how to get what she wanted… "Jules, tell me about your first kiss… And not some quick peck, I mean your fist real, racy, yummy kiss," she asked. Julia lifted her blue eyes to meet Ruby's and Ruby saw how truly beautiful her sister could be. There was a powerful warmth in those eyes.

A smile slipped onto Julia's face. "He asked me to dinner," she started with a tiny giggle. "A picnic in the park, with peanut-butter and jelly…" Julia's eyes grew more intense, "And a bottle of absinthe," she added with her eyebrow raised.

"William Murdoch… brought absinthe!?" Ruby declared.

"He did," she answered. "We both drank too much. And I remember he said he was disappointed…" Julia paused and looked her in the eye, "Are you sure you want this much detail?" she asked.

Ruby nodded her head vigorously, with a gigantic grin.

Julia carried a tray with the collected penicillin to the sink where she would add water to make the solution for the injections and the salve and the pills. "William said he was disappointed because he hadn't seen any Green Ferries, and I, um, I guess it was really me who initiated it," she reflected. "Well, I slid my fingers around the back of his neck, into his hair, and I told him we couldn't have him being disappointed, and then… he leaned towards me, and… my God, did my insides flip over Ruby. I don't think I have ever felt anything like that. And our lips touched for the first time… And I was gone," Julia shook her head, "Completely gone, so madly in love with him that I couldn't breathe…"

Ruby waited, knowing her sister was enjoying the memory. However, she grew impatient and exclaimed, "Did you two have intercourse… In the park!?"

Julia chuckled, "Almost," she replied.

"Oh my God!" Ruby declared, "That's amazing!"

"I asked him if he had any… protection, any prophylactics. I have to say, I was pretty sure he wouldn't. The man is Catholic aft…"

"And stuffy," Ruby interjected.

Julia wrinkled a corner of her mouth, a gesture she had picked up from William, showing that she had to admit that what Ruby had said was true. "Yes…" she acquiesced, "So we didn't actually make love that night." Julia had prepared the solution of penicillin she would use for William's injections, but now paused to shake the solution before she would put it in the icebox. "You know, I'm sure it must have made him wonder… when later I would tell him I was sterile. I mean, why would I say we needed a prophylactic if I couldn't have a child? He likely lived for quite a while with that question," she said.

"Mm," Ruby agreed.

"He finally got his answer, after father died, and we spent the night together in his lake-house," Julia said, looking back to Ruby. She would now make the salve and the pills.

" _She hasn't told about their orgasms and their intercourse yet,"_ Ruby reminded herself gleefully, her eyes glued to her sister.

Julia explained, "I told him about my specific gynecological condition, and that I could get pregnant, but that neither the baby nor myself would be able to survive childbirth…" Julia checked to see if Ruby understood – if she remembered that after her abortion Julia had been left with a scarred cervix that would not be able to dilate sufficiently to allow an infant to fit through to be born. "Do you remember?" she asked.

Ruby nodded, "You mean about your cervix being scarred?" she asked.

Julia nodded and went back to work on the penicillin pills. "We wanted to wake up together, but he also wanted to wait to make love until when were married, so we agreed to " _sleep"_ in the same bed," she said. An embarrassed smile crept onto her face.

"I suppose that didn't work?" Ruby guessed.

Julia took a deep breath, "No… It got very… close. Well, in the end, we… uh…" Julia realized how much what they had done back then was like their Plan C now. She decided to blurt it out, "We pleasured each other."

"I see," Ruby said, "So, the orgasms… but not the intercourse."

Mm-hmm," Julia said, nodding.

"So the intercourse was on your wedding night, then?" Ruby asked, "And…" and Ruby's face took on a terribly devilish grin, "I'm sure it was with orgasms then?"

"Oh it was… It most definitely was," Julia insisted. She had finished making the salve and the pills. The pills were possibly a little too large, but they would suffice.

Once they were back upstairs, Ruby thought to ask, "So Jules… How did you end up getting pregnant then? I mean, you and William were using prophylactics, weren't you?"

"Julia explained, "We did at first. But over time, well we slowly stopped… I let go of it. I mean I hadn't gotten pregnant the times we didn't use any… And the whole time I was with Darcy he had insisted we not use any… And I didn't get pregnant with him, so I just thought I really wasn't able to get pregnant anyway, so why bother with the prophylactics… I should have known, though, or at least, I shouldn't have been surprised. William and I make love… often, and it is really, really good," Julia's eyes grew wide exaggerating this point, then added, "As you know," reaching over and giving Ruby a playful shove, "Because I told you – and Emily Grace – about it the last time you visited… And you proceeded to tell William that I told you!" Julia's face had turned bright red all over again with the memory of it, of when William had come home from work and he had, " _interrogated_ ," the, " _witnesses,_ " to her guilt in the case of, " _kissing and telling._ "

Julia considered making it clear that Ruby was not to tell William about their conversation today, but decided not to do so, for, knowing her sister, it would only make her more likely to tell. At that moment, the baby kicked and Julia gasped and placed her hand on her belly. Quickly she reached out and brought Ruby's hand to lie under hers, hoping it would happen again…

They waited, holding their breath, feeling nothing. "I guess not," Julia said. She sat on one of the sofas, and Ruby sat on the sofa across the coffee table from her. On the coffee table, Julia spotted a recent medical journal that Isaac had brought over for her. In detail, it described the surgical procedure he would perform on her to deliver the baby. "Ruby, would you like to know about the surgery – the transverse Cesarean section?" she asked.

Ruby sighed with the challenge of replying, she knew her sister, and if she said 'yes' then it would be an hour of details.

Handing the journal to Ruby, Julia said, "I have an idea… You skim through the article on the procedure Isaac… You remember my good friend Isaac Tash from Bishop University…"

Ruby nodded, "Is he going to do the surgery?!" Ruby exclaimed. She had always liked the man.

"Yes… you can look through the article while I make us some tea," Julia suggested. Julia heaved and hoed and finally lifted her pregnant body off of the couch.

Ruby read the captions under the diagrams, getting the gist, which basically was that instead of cutting the mother up-and-down to open the womb and remove the baby, the surgeon would cut sideways. This meant that none of the abdominal muscles needed to be cut, which meant less bleeding, which meant better survival of the mother.

When Julia returned, Ruby had the journal opened to the page with a diagram of the Pfannenstiel incision. This is a smile-shaped incision just at the top of the pubic bone. "So, Jules, you will have a scar like this?" she asked.

Taking her seat and then pouring the tea, Julia imagined the procedure, and with the thought she was reminded of the risks, and a chill shot down her spine. Her face went a little pale, and Ruby, being quite observant, noticed. "What is it Jules?" she asked, concern in her voice.

All of a sudden Julia was overwhelmed by the oddest feeling of fate and an almost mystical importance to the moment, not quite déjà vu, but similar in some way. William's worries from early on in her pregnancy, his reluctance to want to try to keep the baby, his fear that he would lose her, his insistence that, of all things, she should have an abortion, flooded over her. Her eyes met her sister's, dazed, her mouth agape. How could she explain the devastation and fear she felt, terrified she wouldn't be able to convince him to try, devastated by the thought of aborting the baby? Would Ruby think less of him, knowing that he had been willing to go against his faith, would she think that he did not love their child enough to try… Would she see his point, that he loved _**her**_ so much, he couldn't imagine taking a chance at having her die trying to have their child?

Ruby's alarm grew exponentially as the moments passed. "Jules?" she asked again.

Julia frowned and took a sip of tea. A deep breath announcing that an answer was coming, she said, "Yes, if we are lucky, I will have a scar like that. I am far enough along now that there is no turning back anymore. William and I agreed to take the risks."

Ruby got up and came over to sit next to Julia on the couch. "It is very risky then?" she asked.

"I could bleed to death…"

But the article said these newer procedures stopped that?" Ruby insisted, wishing with all her heart to rid herself of the fear.

Julia glanced at the opened journal on the table, "They lower the risk of bleeding out significantly… But there is still a risk. And the bigger danger is dying from infection afterwards."

"I see," Ruby replied, the gravity of their decision sinking in. "It occurred to her then, that perhaps her sister had agreed to going through with the pregnancy, come what may, because William is Catholic and he would not have been able to live with his wife having an abortion, with her aborting his child. A pang of anger stirred…

Julia rushed to explain, "William and I are scientists… well, at least we tend to look at the world through the lens of science, and well," Julia took a deep breath working to calm herself, "we considered the odds – 85 percent survival rates – and we decided… to be honest, with much insistence from me, that we _not_ abort the baby.

"You mean… _**William**_ was the one who wanted you to have an abortion?" Ruby nearly shrieked. Julia nodded and Ruby added, "That's unbelievable."

Julia nodded again. She couldn't help it – the emotions of the memories of the intense discussions she and William had had about this were too great, and tears formed in her eyes. "I had almost given up hope in convincing him, but I wanted the baby so much…" Julia's voice squeaked as she explained, "I just couldn't believe fate gave us a chance – gave me the chance – to give him the one thing that had made me lose him in the past. And he had sacrificed being a father in order to have me – that he loved me that much… And now I could give it to him… And I just couldn't turn that away," Julia said, losing her breath with the feelings, fighting off the sobs.

Ruby leaned in close and held her. "And William did agree, to try…"

"I was so grateful when Isaac met with us and told us of the medical advances… I remember I nearly fainted with happiness, because I knew William would see then. And I knew we would try," she said, seeming to calm down with the memory of her relief.

"Jules, you are going to be such a good mother," Ruby said, tears in her eyes now as well. She took Julia's hands and declared, "Oh Jules, I love you so much."

Julia' red, blotchy, tear-stained face smiled, for Ruby was an annoying, sometimes astonishingly annoying, little sister, but she knew Ruby loved her beyond words, and she also knew that she loved her back, with all her heart. She opened her arms to Ruby, and they shared a hug, albeit not too tightly for Julia's pregnant belly was between them. "Me too," she whispered.

First, under the watchful, hungry, gaze of Detective Murdoch, Rebecca tested the letter-opener against the frozen Jello-mold of the victim's stab wound that Dr. Ogden had made last week. "They appear identical," her calm, clinical voice stated. Having already recorded the measurements of the wound, she moved on to measure the length and breadth of the dimensions of the letter-opener. "The measurements of the letter-opener and the mold of the weapon are the same detective," she noted.

"Good," William said with a bow.

His enthusiasm thrilled Rebecca. Truly, it made the man easily twice as handsome. " _It's no wonder Dr. Ogden fell in love with him all those years ago while they worked together like this,_ " she thought. His smile contagious, she felt her words through her own smile, "Shall I test the rug now?" she asked.

"Please," William answered eagerly. Knowing the blood tests would take a bit longer than comparing the fibers, he asked her to collect the fibers from the rug first. They too were a match! On to test the stain on the rug…

After determining that the stain did consist of blood, Rebecca discovered that she did not have the rabbit serum needed to run the test to determine whether or not the blood was human. William knew this particular test very well, having been the one to show it to Dr. Ogden himself many years ago. He had done some reading back then and had figured out that when human blood cells are placed in contact with rabbit serum, antibodies in the rabbit serum would interact with the human blood cells, making a visible line appear in the serum. It is a rather quick test, only taking a minute or two for the reaction to occur.

Wrinkles curled at the corner of his mouth in disappointment, he inhaled, and with a sigh, asked if she would be able to get some. She would have to make a call over to the University to see if they had any rabbit serum on hand. While William waited, at first distracted by the searing pain sitting on the small, wooden seat at the morgue workbench caused in his buttocks – for it was impossible to find a way to sit that did not align with the injection sites, he noticed that he was sitting in the exact same spot where he had first shown Julia this very test. It had been when his father had been accused of murder. He had been terribly stressed by the whole thing, and had been irritable with everyone, but probably most importantly, with Julia. His mind drifted to his, "very awkward apology," at the time, and how incredibly beautiful Julia had looked running the women's exercises right before he made his apology, and how his heart had pounded so in his chest, for he greatly wanted her to think well of him, and he had been so very embarrassingly rude. " _If I only knew how many times I would end up apologizing to this woman,_ " he thought. He chuckled to himself, thinking about how certain he was he would need to do so again, surely lots of times, and how still each and every time, his heart would thump and pound in his chest…

"We're in luck, detective. The University will send some rabbit serum over with a technician on his way home tonight. I'll be glad to wait for him," Miss James said.

William sighed, he would have to wait, but, " _it could have been worse,_ " he thought, as he put his hat on and tipped it at Miss James. "Thank you Miss James," he said, "Most likely not till tomorrow then," and took his leave.

Back in his office, Julia called. Excitedly, he told her about the new evidence in the case. It was looking like they would soon be able to arrest the murderer of Ieva Baltavesky. "But in many ways we have only just begun," William said into the phone. "It appears less and less likely that her husband died in an accident," he explained.

"Yes, that's why I called William," Julia said. "Dr. Reynolds is out of town – at a Conference I believe. He won't be back until tomorrow… And I didn't want to leave a message… about my questions about the body of Adomas Baltavesky… Uh, it seemed there was some discomfort with this whole inquiry over at Stationhouse 5 – right?" she asked.

She heard him sigh into the phone, unsure whether his disappointment was with the delay in getting information from the coroner about the man's death, or because of his frustration with the suspicious behavior of those at Stationhouse #5. " _My, there was such a history there,_ " she thought, " _And somehow William always seems to end up in the middle of all of it._ " The conversation paused as they each remembered William investigating the killing of Stationhouse #5's Constable Cooper a long time ago, and how extremely angry those in the Constabulary became when William began to investigate a fellow copper, Constable Townsend, for the crime… And then there was the whole mess with bribery, and murder, and extortion with Chief Inspector Davis too…

Julia broke the quiet, asking, "Are you managing to survive with your sling, detective?"

William looked down at his own personal mini-stockade – he truly despised wearing it. Unconsciously reacting to the increase in tension, he reached up to rub his forehead. "Julia," he said, "I, uh… I am hoping…"

William did not finish his sentence, for the sound of the Inspector's bellow erupted in the air…

"Crabtree! Murdoch! My office! Now!" he commanded with a huff, following the outburst with a slam of his door.

"Oh my," William heard his wife's voice in the phone, "I guess you have to go."

William worked to steel himself, _this did not sound good_. "Yes… Er, I'll uh, see you tonight," he answered, hanging up the phone and making for the Inspector's office with haste.

The detective and Crabtree shared a look before they braved crossing the Inspector's threshold. William offered a shrug. George, however, appeared a bit pale, a consequence of his effort to control the nauseating panic that threatened to overwhelm him. Once inside, both men recognized the false calm of the Inspector's voice as he started, "I just got a call from the Chief Inspector…"

Murdoch and Crabtree instinctively stood taller, bracing for the blow.

"It seems that he received a call from one of the best Toff-lawyers Toronto has to offer…" he paused, his eyes burrowing and burning into Crabtree. "Seems that my detective may have come into some evidence illegally…

William looked at George. "George?" he asked raising an eyebrow.

"Well sir… sirs… I er…" George squirmed only to be interrupted by the Inspector.

 _Murdoch didn't know! And there was no way the Inspector would let the little worm beat him to the chase!_ "Seems a certain Mr. Thaddeus Davies had called instructing his lawyer to call a judge and have our whole case thrown out!" the Inspector yelled, the octaves and volume rising exponentially as his sentence progressed. The Inspector pounded his hand down on his desk, and then he took a deep breath, his crimson face seeming to recover some, and continued, now eyeing the detective, waiting to see the pain grow on the man's face, "A constable from Stationhouse #4 paid Davies' manager a visit today… And after this constable left, this manager noticed that one of his personal possessions had been removed from Mr. Davies' private property!" he bellowed with another slam to the desk.

"Uh, uh, uh… Well, er, that's true sir," George admitted, now all eyes on him, "But only the letter-opener. I mean, I uh, the rug, well sirs, the rug was definitely not on Davies' property when I found it. I found it… it, it was in the dump sirs…" George said with his eyes darting from one superior to the other. "Uh, as I told the detective, I saw the rug being discarded with the trash into a refuse wagon and that very same wagon took it to the dump. That's where I found it," he finished.

Both the Inspector and George looked to William, who was dumbfounded with the Inspector's revelation. His jaw clenched, as he used every ounce of self-control he had, and certainly everyone knew that this particular man had a lot of it, to keep his mouth closed. Finding the pressure too great, he spun on his heel and left. The detective marched across the bullpen and the entire stationhouse watched as he, the most buttoned-down man they had all ever known, rammed his injured and slinged shoulder into his closed office door, missing the timing of his shove with the turning of the knob, thus landing a square, loud, thud on the door… before he finally turned the doorknob, flung the door open, causing it bang loudly against the wall, and then grabbed a hold of it from within his office to give it a thunderous slam. Mouths agape with the shock, everyone watched him bash his good fist into his worktable through the windows of his office, before he rushed to slap all the blinds down over the windows.

It seemed quite some time passed before anybody breathed.

The Inspector told Crabtree that it seemed that Davies did not know about the rug. There was some hope that it would be able to remain as evidence in the case. A trifle degree of relief seeped into George's heart. They decided to wait a little while for the detective to cool off before they gave him this news.

Now near the end of the day, the entire stationhouse noticed the detective's office door when it opened. The man emerging from inside no longer wore his sling. Approaching the center of the bullpen, William said, "Alright lads, let's go over what we have..."

Before everyone moved to surround and listen to the detective, all eyes, including those of the Inspector, glanced at the disgraced constable. The detective, however, refused to look at Crabtree. He proceeded, "The fingermarks on the letter-opener, which is most likely our murder weapon _**and**_ we cannot use, do not match the fingermarks on the victim's locket and the bloody fingermark on the garbage-pail lid from behind the brothel where we found the body – but they do, however, match those of the manager at Davies Slaughterhouse, Liam Mulligan. Now," the detective hurried to add, "We know Mulligan is probably Ieva Baltavesky's killer – but this is evidence we cannot use…"

Once again, George felt all the world's eyes on him, and yet, this did not start the aversive, single-pitched sliding of the ringing in his ears, no, that happened because Detective Murdoch's eyes were not among them. He was being shunned, by the one man whose opinion of him he cared most about.

William went on, "I think there was another man, the man whose fingermarks _will_ match those on the locket and the garbage-pail lid, who moved the body. We need to find this man."

There was much nodding.

William took a deep breath, working to remain calm, and switched to another aspect of the case. "Now men," he started, "We also likely have another victim involved in this crime – Ieva Baltavesky's husband, Adomas Baltavesky, was found dead on a train here in Toronto last summer. This is why Ieva Baltavesky came to Toronto from Winnipeg, she was looking for him. His death was ruled an accident, but we are trying to get the file from Stationhouse #5…"

"I'll put in a call to the Chief Inspector tomorrow," The Inspector said. "Right now I want to give him a little time," he added.

"Good," William answered. "Now, Higgins…"

Henry Higgins couldn't help it – his heart began to race. There was so much tension in the room, and the pressure was so high…

The detective had continued, "What did you find out about the train on which they found Adomas Baltavesky's body?"

Grabbing at the multitude of large books on his desk, causing a flutter and flurry of paper, Higgins replied nervously, "I, uh, well… It… Well, all I could find sir was that, um, well… It was not a passenger train," he finally blurted out.

Detective Murdoch's jaw grew tight, his eyes darkened as they honed in on Higgins and he leaned down towards the younger man, and he said, his voice betraying his frustration, " _ **Not**_ a passenger train…" then louder, " _ **Not**_ a passenger train," now with sarcasm, and an eyebrow raised, "Constable Higgins, that is what you have for me? That Baltavesky's body was found on… _**NOT**_ a passenger train!" the detective finally shouted. But William was the one who saw stars, when he followed his outburst with a whack of the hand of his hurt arm on Higgins' desk! The pain shooting up to his shoulder pushed him over the edge of tolerance. "Bollocks!" he yelled, to audible gasps. And, oh my, his face turned red.

Too angry to be aware of his shame, William stepped back and took a deep breath and then pushed himself to lower his tone and continue. "Constable Hanley, what have you found…"

Higgins leaned over his desk towards George, "That's your fault," he whispered angrily. George could not deny it.

Hanley reported that there is one main factory that supplies most of the burlap to the businesses in Toronto, and that it is this same one that supplied the burlap to Davies Slaughterhouse.

Murdoch nodded and moved on, "And what about matching the specific burlap-roll tubes from the dump to those sold to Davies Slaughterhouse?" Constable Hanley shrugged and looked to the others. "Who has started on that?" the detective asked the men. The men looked to their neighbors and then back at the detective. No one said a word. "Lads, this won't do," William said, his teeth gritted in frustration. All eyes were fixed down on the floor. William gave the Inspector a look.

Unsure what to think, Brackenreid stepped forward and said, "Men, we need to step this up…" as Detective Murdoch sighed loudly and marched back into his office.

After most of the men had gone home for the night, the night shift coming on, Inspector Brackenreid knocked on Murdoch's door and opened it to step in. "So, me old' mucker, you didn't know Crabtree took the letter-opener from Davies' property then?" he got directly to the point.

"No," William said as he reached up to rub his strained forehead. Lifting his head from the notes on his desk, he frowned. With a sigh, he explained, "I assumed he had found it with the rug – in the dump… I should have asked," he added, willing to see his part in the whole mess.

"He's eager to please you, dingy bugger," the Inspector commented.

William nodded, joining the Inspector with a weak, half-hearted chuckle, for William was certainly anything but pleased, as his temper tantrum had blatantly shown, and then he wrinkled a corner of his mouth in agreement.

"Go home, Murdoch," Brackenreid said, heading for the door, "We'll get this all sorted in the morning. I'll call Judge Peterson and do what I have to do to get that rug allowed as evidence in our case…"

"We'll need the refuse workers statements – that they took the rug from Davies to the dump," Murdoch started working on the case again.

"Don't forget, you have both myself and Constable Crabtree who can testify that we observed a rug exactly like the one found in the dump in Mulligan's office," the Inspector added.

"True," William agreed.

"Get home to your wife, Murdoch. Let the good doctor help you feel better. Tomorrow is another day," Brackenreid concluded.

"Good night, sir," William said in return.

On his way out, William observed out of the corner of his eye, that George still sat at his desk with his nose buried in Higgins' train records. George lifted his head, thinking to say good-night, but thought better of it and remained silent. William just walked on by.

& & & 7 & & & & & &

Free of his sling, irritated deeply with the case and the day, William stepped out into the dusky night. Proving that it was truly a horrible day, it was teeming down cold, December rain. " _Is it stubbornness or determination?_ " he thought to himself as he walked to the constabulary stable to get his wheel despite the rain.

Upon arriving home, soaked, shivering, and covered in mud that had been splashed all over him while cycling in the flooded streets, William was beyond grumpy. Remembering the way Ruby had been all over him when he had walked in the door yesterday evening, he braced himself for the potential barrage, as he opened the door and felt a slight relief at being bathed in the cozy light and scent of Eloise's dinner, and in getting out of the rain. Barely having had time to remove his hat and unbutton his coat, Ruby quickly rounded the corner from the living room into the foyer to meet him. Julia waddled slowly behind.

Stopping in her tracks, Ruby declared, "How could you possibly get so wet from the cab to the house?"

Recognizing that what William really needed most was a dry towel, Julia headed down the hallway to the downstairs bathroom, answering for him while shaking her own head in disbelief, "He rode his bicycle."

Drilling him more, Ruby asked, "Why on Earth would you ride your bike home in this weather?"

Listening as she returned with the towel, Julia noticed that her husband gave no answer. Half expecting to see Ruby doting all over her husband like she had the night before, she was pleased to see her sister was keeping her hands to herself. Julia stepped up close to William, big, fluffy towel opened and inviting, and lifted it up to cover his head, and then she softly massaged his scalp, drying his hair.

" _Oh, that feels so good_ ," he thought, the sensations causing William to visibly relax and breathe in the crisp, warm smell of the clean towel, pleasing him even more.

"William, you're covered in mud," Julia said, realizing this was the reason Ruby had stayed clear.

His voice muffled, rose from under the towel, "Carriage drivers are not very mindful of cyclers, especially once it gets dark."

Julia pulled the towel back, revealing his face, their eyes meeting. Then she gently wiped his cheeks, rubbed the towel over his ears, and tucked it down to dry his neck. Remembering the wound on his shoulder, currently out of sight under his drenched clothing, she reminded herself to keep her touch clear. Suddenly, she noticed, admonishing him, "William Murdoch, you are supposed be wearing your sling."

His tone short, and his chocolate-brown eyes suddenly honed with anger, and his jaw clenched tight, he answered, "Well, Julia Ogden, you shouldn't treat me like a boy who is still in short trousers."

The jolt of the sting of his words stunning her, Julia stepped back. Before she could decide what to say in reply, she heard Ruby's voice abruptly state, "Then perhaps you should stop behaving like one, and be grateful you have a wife who loves you." Then, both further defending her sister, and insulting William, Ruby raised a critical eyebrow at Julia and added, "You would think a bright man such as your husband would appreciate having such a caring wife," as if William weren't even there.

All that William knew was that he wanted out of there – and he wanted out now! Their triad had never taken such a turn before, and especially after the day he had had, he needed for his home to be a place where he felt safe and loved and not on the defensive. His body went into high alert, immediately he found himself in, "fight or flight mode," as his brain remembered that the pack gangs up on a dog when he's down, and right now he knew he had best get up or get out. His muscles twitched and his instincts instructed him to turn around and go out the front door, only to imagine the dreadful weather on the other side of it… The next conscious thought he had was of his inner voice telling him not to slam the bedroom door behind him at the very moment that he felt the muscles in his arm push against it – hard, guaranteeing a slam. He was surprised he did not regret the bang a split second later when he heard it.

Julia and Ruby stood together, Julia with the wet, muddy-brown towel dangling in her hand, staring up the staircase. Julia's mind ran so many different directions at once that she ended up frozen in place. A memory emerged dominant, taking center stage of her attention, a memory of talking on the phone with William earlier, and hearing the Inspector yell in the background, commanding William and George to come into his office. Her heart sunk with a pang of remorse, _yes, she knew it now – he had had a very bad day_.

Ruby tried to appease the tension, checking to make sure that Julia was not upset with her for her role in what had just happened. "He can be quite testy," she said.

Julia was slower to respond than Ruby expected.

" _Worried_ ," Ruby thought of her sister.

"Not usually," Julia finally said, her voice far off and misty. "He must have had a very bad day at work," she offered.

Ruby considered asking if Julia wanted her to apologize… Although she really didn't think she had done anything wrong…

" _He will probably take a shower – actually, a bath instead, I hope, so as not to get his stitches wet – or should I say, wetter_ ," Julia thought to herself, re-seeing in her mind his soaked, shivering image. She sighed. Finally she turned to look at Ruby. "I think I will prepare the penicillin treatments he needs… So he can get it over with before dinner," she made her plans out loud. She headed downstairs leaving Ruby to figure out what to do to entertain herself until Eloise had dinner ready.

Steam floated in the air as Julia walked through their bedroom to the bathroom, pausing in the doorway to relish the sight of him… before she would have to face the tension of trying to reconnect with him. He had taken a hot bath, and now stood bent over the bathroom sink washing his hair. " _Too bad he covered up in the towel,_ " she thought, recognizing that she would have particularly enjoyed this view if he were completely nude. " _Oh how I wish he were_ _ **butt-naked**_ ," she thought, then chuckling inside her head at her own joke before she stepped in boldly, walking behind him to stand on his other side.

He caught her movement out of the corner of his eye, instantly his heart rate soared. He really didn't want to fight with her. With a deep breath he tried to calm his nerves, noticing she held a tray of medicine – he recognized the vials of creamy-white penicillin – and the syringe! So quickly he felt the pain in his derriere. Half of him rushed to fight his panic and the other half felt relief, for her presentation suggested she would most likely be offering care rather than argument.

Imagining what would happen next, William cringed. The injection of the thick, cold penicillin had hurt quite badly the three other times she had administered them, and now it would be shoved into flesh that was already bruised and sore from previous injections – and there was this… intimacy and trust involved in having her do it to him, and… he just really didn't want to do it right now.

"Julia, I don't want to… not tonight," he complained. He went back to rinsing the soap out of his hair.

Speaking loud enough to be heard over the running water, but trying oh so hard to sound calm and objective, she said, "William, I know you understand that the regiment we are using is helping you heal faster, and better…" She followed her logic by playing the card she knew would work with him, because he was a scientist at heart, and because it was a line he had used on her, and it was associated with such a lovely memory, of their sharing absinthe during a picnic, and their first wonderful kiss. "It's all in the name of science, William," she reasoned, "We need to keep the treatments going for me to know whether or not the penicillin works."

Once again, William found himself with the urge to run away. He turned off the sink, grabbed a towel for his hair and hurried into the bedroom, Julia on his heels. Giving in, he took a seat at her vanity and sighed deeply. "Julia," the injection sites are… very sore and bruised…"

"We can use a different muscle… the deltoid would work. And yours are quite large, from lifting weights," she suggested.

William sighed again, "Very well then," he acquiesced.

His shoulder muscle was very tight, the dense tissue providing a great deal of resistance to the entry of the thick solution. The sting of the spreading area as the fluid was forced into his flesh had locked his face in a rigid position. Julia realized he was holding his breath. "Try to relax William," Julia coached, "it will loosen the muscle. I am using a needle with a very wide circumference, but still…" Julia groaned, "I uh… It is quite a struggle pushing it in." Even using both hands on the syringe, Julia's muscles shook with her efforts. "William, I think I may need to inject the rest at another site," she worried.

He sighed again. She looked him in the eye. A curl dangled along her periphery, the way he so loved. "Let me," he said, reaching across and tucking his fingers under the bottom edge of the syringe. She removed her thumb from the top for his thumb to take its place, and he finished pushing the penicillin into his shoulder. He pulled the needle out and handed her the empty syringe.

She exhaled, sending the aforementioned curl into a dance. "Thank you," she said. He nodded. Warmth was there, between them. Next, she would apply the salve to the wound.

She leaned closer, the salve, the attention, felt good. Close enough now that he could smell her, he could feel her breath, his eyes settled on her belly, and his thoughts reminded of their baby on the way, and his spirits rose – he loved her so.

Clearing his throat first, William said, "I was curt with you earlier, Julia. I'm sorry."

"You were," she replied, matter-of-factly.

His eyes dropped down, although he could still see nothing else besides her belly anyway, and he sighed again. " _She is mad_ ," he thought, feeling a stir of worry in his gut.

She stepped back, at first sending his heart into a rush with anxiety. But she slipped her fingers under his chin, and lifted his face to bring his eyes to hers, and her eyes were such a beautiful gentle blue, and deep, and open, and heartwarming. "What I said to you was belittling, William." She took a deep breath, and dropped her head, and turned away. Now even farther away, she looked back into his eyes, but finding she was uncomfortable, she dropped her eyes down to the floor again and said, "I… I guess I thought you found it cute… when I call you by your full name… and kind of," she risked a glance, "scold you…" before she looked away once more.

William stood up and stepped close. "Sometimes I do, most times I do… Not this time though," he said with his mouth wrinkling up at a corner, indicating he felt it to be an admission, that he had been annoyed, and that he was inconsistent. He had learned, to push through his fear when they were wrapped up in a disagreement with each other, and it was tense between them. He knew to fight with all his might inside of himself to find the truth of whatever he felt, and to be brave enough to say it. " _Trust the truth_ ," he told himself.

"So, I'm sorry too, William, for not treating you like a grown man, who is capable of making his own decisions about matters such as whether or not to wear a sling," she nearly whispered.

A big burst of air escaped his nostrils, betraying his relief. "Good," he said with a bow.

Julia looked over at the medicine tray on her vanity. There was still the pill he would need to take. Her expression showing apology, she said, "After dinner, hmm?"

Taking a few steps towards the vanity, starting to prepare to get dressed, thus pulling off his towel, William leaned over the tray for a better look at the notably enormous pill. "More like for a horse than for a man," he stated, causing Julia to fold over into laughter. So quickly his eyes shot to hers, begging to understand what she thought was so funny.

Her eyes fixed down on his naked body, she struggled through her mischievous giggles and finally wondered aloud, "You or the pill?"

William's mind ran backwards – seeking to remember what had he just said? " _Something about a horse_ … Oh!" he exclaimed with his beautiful brown eyes bugged wide, figuring out what she was referring to on his anatomy. He wrinkled a corner of his mouth to rebuke her, "Julia," he said cynically, an eyebrow raised at her, "Have you ever seen that part of a horse?" he asked incredulously. He approached her, making fierce contact with her body and pushing her back against the wall with an enticing thud.

Her insides surged, swirling into twists, delicious, dizzying twists, she wanted him so. Julia replied, her voice sultry with lust, "I have." He kissed her aggressively, and she felt him hard and demanding against her body, sending her into a tizzy of want. "William," she whispered. " _William, please,_ " she begged in her head as her womb flipped over.

He took a firm hold of her wrists and brought her arms up over her head, pinning her wrists to the wall with his good hand. "You do know, horses bite too," his voice sunk down into her brain, setting it into a tumultuous spin as she felt his teeth take her neck, and his hand explored her body. Oh, he sucked hard on her flesh, sure to leave a mark. Her knees grew so weak, she felt the floor rise upward, and she had to remind herself to breathe to avoid sliding down to the floor. "William, I want you closer. Please. Please… William…"

Sharply… there was a knock at the door… Startling them… William stepped back. Ruby's voice pierced the air, both William and Julia thinking that, knowing her, she had been listening in, "Eloise said to ask if she should hold off dinner?"

Having been so highly aroused by the power of their incoming, "thunderstorm," Julia just now remembered that he would not have made love to her in the traditional sense anyway, " _only Plan C,"_ she reminded herself, " _only Plan C._ "

William, being more in control than his lover, answered Ruby through the bedroom door, "We need ten minutes," adding a cheerful, "Thank you Ruby."

He was feeling better! Everybody noticed happily.

While William dressed, Julia asked him what had happened at work, to account for his earlier grouchiness. She figured it was related to when the Inspector had hollered for him to come into his office with George. Threatening to be pulled back into his misery, William tried to downplay the exchange.

"Remember, I had told you about the evidence – the letter-opener that matched the Jello-mold you made of the stab wound and that had Mulligan's fingermarks on it – and the green rug George and the Inspector said was likely the one in Mulligan's office, with a human blood stain on it," he asked.

Julia nodded, "Yes, it was very strong evidence against Mulligan." She remembered, but didn't have time to finish her thought, that it was this green rug that William was looking for when he had gone up to Mulligan's office at Davies Slaughterhouse that awful night…

William went on, "Well, I had assumed George found both items in the dump…"

Interrupting, she asked, "He didn't?!" the severity of the situation started to sink in, "That's what the Inspector called you two in for?"

He paused in dressing, trousers now on and shirt selected, "Um-hmm," he nodded. His face showed it all, a mixture of fear and anger and disappointment.

"Oh William," she exclaimed, "What happened?"

"It turns out George had gone to question Mulligan about the list of workers that were there the day Jackson and I got attacked. He saw the letter-opener – I had told him I suspected Mulligan…" William raised a questioning eyebrow and tilted his head, "Because he would be strong enough to make the wound," he explained. "I told him I thought the weapon might have been a letter-opener…" He pulled on his shirt.

Julia couldn't help but remind herself to soak in one final look at her husband's exquisite chest before he covered it up.

Shocked Julia asked, "He took it – from the man's office?!"

William nodded. He added, "It was only on his way out, after taking the letter-opener, that George saw the refuse wagon and the rug."

Julia took a deep breath, "So, at least the rug should be allowed as evidence."

"Probably," William agreed, "But we won't be able to use the weapon at all," he said frowning. He was ready to go downstairs. He offered her his arm and said, "Mulligan must have told Davies, who called his lawyer, who called Judge Peterson…"

"Oh my, he's a prickly one," she warned.

"Mm," William agreed.

"You know William, George broke the rules, but his heart was in the right place… I'm sure he was upset about you being attacked so viciously. You could have died," she reminded.

Downstairs now, they headed for the delicious smells and the sounds of Ruby and Eloise laughing. William stopped her before they went into the kitchen. "I know," he said, his tone sincere, his wrinkled face suggesting apology, for he knew she had been frightened. He gave her a slow caress, topped off with a kiss.

Over dinner, Julia noticed William was, at times, deep in his own thoughts. She found herself catching his eye, sharing a smile. " _He absolutely loves beef potpie. Hopefully it is serving to comfort him,_ " she had thought, grateful to Eloise for having made it, and fate for coaxing her into making it tonight of all nights. "Oh William, I almost forgot. A package came for you," she said just as they were helping Eloise to clear the table.

Trying to keep his face relaxed so as not to give away his emotions, William worried that it might be booby-trapped. He reassured himself, " _Ever since the meat-hook, you've been paranoid._ " He tried to remember if had had ordered anything, coming up blank. "Was there a sender's address?" he asked.

The package was in the foyer, under the table. He remembered the moment he saw it. "Oh, of course," he declared, his voice excited.

Julia knew the look. It always made her think she was getting to see what he would have been like when he was a little boy, so wondrous and enthused about one thing or another. She sighed, letting the warm feelings she had for him seep deeper into her.

"I ordered some coils – for the refrigeration in the cold room in your lab!" he explained. He turned to look at Julia and Ruby. "Would it be alright…"

Julia smiled and answered, "Oh, go ahead William." He gave her a quick hug, scooped up his package and headed downstairs.

"I guess it's just you and me again, sister," she said to Ruby, taking her arm. They sat in the living room talking. Eloise stopped in a while later to say she was heading home. Julia remembered the horrid weather and took pause.

"Eloise, it was rainy and cold and miserable when William came home. It is probably freezing into ice sheets by now. Let me get William to at least see you safely to a cab," she offered.

A few minutes later, everyone grouped together while William and Julia figured out what coat William could wear since his was still drenched, the phone rang.

"Hello. Murdoch-Ogden residence," Julia said, answering it. "Oh, Inspector," she said her eyes locking into William's with a degree of concern. "Yes… He's right here," she said as William had stepped to her side and she handed him the phone.

"Inspector," he said as everyone listened to his half of the conversation.

Inspector Brackenreid was not the type of man to sugarcoat things, so he came right out and said, "Davies is trying to take away George's badge."

Extreme concern in his expression and his voice, William replied, "Oh."

"Yours too I'm afraid me' old-mucker," the Inspector said, "We have a meeting tomorrow morning – eight a.m. in Peterson's office."

William reached up to rub his forehead. "Did you already call George?" he asked.

"Yes… Detective… He is, uh… the lad feels terribly about it," the Inspector added, surprising William with the compassion in his voice.

"Yes. I'm sure," William answered, a deep sigh indicating his stress. "You will be there too, sir?" he asked.

"With bells on," the gruff man answered into the phone, trying to sound optimistic.

"I'll be there. Thank you sir… Have a good night," he said. Placing the receiver back on the base, he looked at Julia. At that very moment he was quite glad he had told her about the problems with the case. He wouldn't have to say as much, with everyone listening. "It seems that Davies has gone on the offense…"

Julia reached up and stroked his injured shoulder. "He already had," she said, reminding him how dangerous this case was.

William wrinkled a corner of his mouth, recognizing that she was right. He went on to explain that Judge Peterson was looking to get his and George's badges taken away, and that he had been summoned to the judge's office for a meeting tomorrow morning. He took Eloise out into the bitter streets and got her securely into a cab. Back at home he stopped in to tell Julia and Ruby that he didn't feel much like talking. He would be downstairs working on the refrigeration.

An hour or so later, Julia joined him in his workroom. She leaned against the doorframe and watched him working. Her mind slipped into a delightful memory, her eyes drifting to the wall behind him. In that wall there was a secret passageway. And back when this house was still under construction, she had dressed up in a sexy red outfit and hidden in there to surprise him on his birthday. It had been so lovely!

William had noticed her out of the corner of his eye. Without looking up he said, "Like what you see Mrs. Murdoch?"

"I do," she replied, "Very much I do."

She waited for him to look up, rewarded when he finally did. " _My God, the man is handsome,_ " she thought. She came in, took a seat on the stool next to his, and said, "I'm going to take a nice warm shower, then bed. Do you think you'll be long?"

Placing a large copper coil down on the worktable, he laid his hand out in front of her, inviting her to hold it, which she did. "No. I'll be right up," he answered. His fingers wrapped and caressed her hand, his attentions dwelling on her wedding rings.

Unsure how she knew exactly, Julia felt his request… to talk. She made an effort to keep the smile from growing on her face – her reaction to his discomfort with bringing up difficult topics of discussion. Something was on his mind, maybe more his chest. His eyes held hers – " _so beautiful,_ " she remarked to herself.

"What is it William?" she asked, instantly knowing the answer – it was George.

He let go of her hand and reached up rubbing his forehead. "I think I need to talk to George – before tomorrow morning…" he started.

She wondered, was it some detail, some fact he wanted to be clandestine about, that was important to the case… It seemed more personal, more emotional, though…

"I find I am still quite angry with him," he said, answering her unspoken question. William wrinkled his face at her.

She knew the man well. He was hoping not to say more. Julia almost giggled out loud at herself when she noticed that now _she_ had reached up to rub _her_ forehead. Truly this was going to be a little messy, for she believed she knew why William was struggling with being angry at George, and he wasn't going to like it. She took a deep breath, preparing like one does before they dive into a freezing cold lake. "Why are you angry with him?" she asked, sensing she was firmly in psychiatrist mode.

"His irresponsible actions will likely cost us solving this case, and may cost him his badge – and me mine– although I doubt it. My job will be safe once it is made clear that I did not know about him taking the evidence illegally," he said, pausing to look at her, receiving her nod. He went on, "I just don't understand why he did it," he insisted, his hands wide, questioning the skies.

" _Already there_ ," she thought. This was the crux of it. William had also been willing to take such risks, and though he would not likely admit that it was taking those risks that _exactly_ got him into trouble, setting himself, and Jackson it turns out as well, up for being attacked, he would still have to admit that he himself had planned to do something against the rules on this case too. "Why do you think it bothers you so much that George was willing to take such risks?" she asked.

His response was quick, "Well, how will I trust him not to do it again?" he asked.

Julia squirmed a little. "William, can you identify with him. I mean do you think you would ev…"

She saw his face change! He remembered – he had it now! Suddenly he looked away. " _Shame_ ," Julia thought. He got up, walked to the other side of the room, his fists clenching. He was fighting anger – she was pretty sure that this time it was at himself. She worried, briefly, that he might end up angry with her – once he remembered, maybe he already did, that he had told _her_ what he was doing when he was upstairs in the dark at Davies Slaughterhouse that fateful night. William kept his back to her and leaned on one arm against the wall. She heard him sigh.

"You are right, Julia. I am being a hypocrite, blaming George for doing the same thing I did when I…" he said, turning around to face her. He walked closer, wrinkled a corner of his mouth like is so customary for him to do. He cleared his throat and continued, "When I was picking Mulligan's office lock – trying to get into his office to see if he had a green rug that would match the fibers in Ieva Baltavesky's nose and mouth."

She gave him a slight bow.

"I'm sorry I took that risk Julia… particularly sorry to you," he said, sitting back down next to her.

She waited, curious as to whether he would ask himself why he did it.

His head down, he said, "I had identified too personally with the victim – and her husband," he nodded to himself. "You know, this morning George said to me that he took it personally," William looked up, caught her eye, "he used those same words, said he 'took it personally,' that Jackson and I had been attacked and hung up on meat-hooks to meet our makers at the end of a saw blade."

Standing, preparing to go, she cupped his cheek and said, "Perhaps it would do George good to know you understand?"

Prompting her to break into a smile, he curled a corner of his mouth. William took a deep breath, "I'll call him," he said, "then I'll be right up." She kissed him and took her leave.

Julia's heart was pounding wildly as she recovered from the second "scattered thunderstorm" he had showered on her after they had gotten into bed. He crawled back up to lie over her and say into her ear that he loved her. That he always had, and that he always would. After a time, he rolled over onto his back and she pulled her leg up over him, draping him with her body. She listened to the rumble his voice made in her ear when she rested her head on his chest. The sound always soothed her – like she knew she was where she was supposed to be and everything was as it should be. This right here, this was home.

"As Plan C goes, tonight was … wonderful," he said.

"But…" she asked.

She felt his fingers pinch one of her curls, twirl it as he said, "But… well," he paused and brought his hand down to cover her belly. He held it still, anticipating, hoping to feel a sign of his child inside of her. "I guess another thing I look forward to, after the baby is born… besides seeing him or her…" he sighed, battling with whether or not what he wanted to say would make him seem too selfish. "I must say, I am very much looking forward to, after baby is born – making love more deeply, together." He squeezed her tight, "I miss it," he said, and she knew he was wrinkling his mouth, and she smiled. He felt it, against his skin.

"As do I, William… But then, of course, even afterwards there will be a wait – there is the little matter of the surgery to recover from," Julia reminded.

Her words sent a chill down his spine, for somehow he had managed to forget the danger she would be in, he had pushed the peril away and had been living life day to day with the assumption that she would be there, that their child would be there, and that the biggest danger was that _he_ would not, that _he_ would get killed. "Yes… Yes, of course," he rushed to reply, working to hide his reaction.

Later, he awoke from a bad dream. He had not had a 'losing Julia' dream for awhile, and he acknowledged to himself that he was quite upset. " _Hot chocolate should help_ ," he thought. He slipped his naked body out from under the blankets carefully, listening to Julia's breathing. She was still asleep. He put on his pajama bottoms and went downstairs.

As he sat at the kitchen table, sipping on the warm treat and reflecting on his thoughts, he heard her at the entryway. Their eyes met across the room. She was so beautiful, in just her robe, her hair down.

She walked to the stove and, finding there was enough for her to have a cup, she poured herself one. "You were expecting me?" she asked.

Watching, certain he couldn't possibly love her more, he answered, "No… just made too much."

She sat where her place was, around the corner from him at the little table. Lifting the cup to her lips, her eyes reached for his over the brim, "The case?" she asked.

He sighed. His voice was scratchy, from lack of speaking, "No, well sort of in some ways, but only in ways that have to do with…" he sighed again, "only in that I find I do so identify with the victims – and…"

Noticing that he had said victims rather than victim, she knew, stating it plainly, "Us then."

He nodded and wrinkled the corner of his mouth admitting it.

She leaned over closer to him, slid her fingers into his hair, then her thumb across his cheek, admiring the feel his stubble stirred in her insides. She tilted her head, inviting his kiss.

"What is it William?" she asked tenderly once the kiss broke off.

He told her, that he had managed to forget… that she would have to go through surgery for the birth. She understood, and helped him see, that it was not really that he forgotten as much as that he had suppressed the thoughts, that he had not _let_ himself think about it. It was not a new worry, but it was a big worry. He told her that he really couldn't bear the thought of losing her – that he had had a nightmare.

"Come closer," she said, and he moved his chair around the corner. "William, we made a decision." She took his hand and brought it on to her belly. "We decided it was worth the risk. We are blessed to be smart people… To know to focus on controlling the things we can, and trusting…" she leaned close, kissed his ear, and whispered, "Trusting your God, William, or fate, or even just chance, for everything to be alright in the end." She felt him kiss her hair, her ear. "We have no choice now but to go forward, hmm?" she asked softly. "Try to stay connected to what's happening right here and right now instead of worrying about what will happen in the future… Be with me, love me," she said.

He pulled back, a little bit, "I have this… sick, awful feeling in my stomach… and it just won't go away," he told her.

" _Well now_ ," Julia thought, " _I think I have an idea of what to do about that."_ She stood, as usual with a little struggle, and a hand from him, while he looked on, wondering if he should stand as well. "Make room for me?" she suggested, standing in front of him.

He pushed his chair back and she straddled him, sitting in his lap. Her robe was pushed open, albeit for the tiny area right at the sash, and… the fact that she lacked bloomers did not escape his memory, the thought preoccupying his brain, which was quickly swirling into a lustful soup.

Breathing grew hurried, heavy, humid. Mouths made that heavenly sound, when they kiss and change to a new spot, and kiss again. Succulent and delicious, they tasted each other, sucked on each other, cherished each other. Her insides flipped and such exquisite, enticing moans melted into the steamy air around them as his hands seized her bosom, and his mouth took her gorgeous, supple flesh. He lifted her onto her own chair and kneeled in front of her, ready to rock her world. But…

She stopped him. They went upstairs, so Ruby wouldn't walk in on them. Oh, and it worked; the sick feeling in his gut was gone, replaced by scrumptious lust and the joy of being so wonderfully in love. He would persevere, as would she, and they would be blessed, they both knew it, if they persevered together.


	8. Chapter 8: Dark ForcesT

Murdoch in the Jungle_7_Dark Forces

Standing together at her desk in the morgue, William changed the subject. "It's intriguing, this notion of bettering the human race," he said, his voice vibrating at his singular magical note that softly touched her core with his marveling at HG Wells' plan of Eugenics to rid the world of crime.

Glad the topic had moved from more mundane matters, such as whether or not he had taken out the trash, Julia's attention had been drawn to his lips as he spoke, and how much she wanted to kiss them, taste them, nibble on them. She stepped a little closer to him, and the magnetism flared. "Mm," she replied. " _William Murdoch, it is you I find intriguing,_ " her mind whispered seductively.

The look in her eyes caught his heart – and his groin – off-guard, jolting both into sturdy alert. His eyes dropped down, taking in the sight of her enticing curves, causing his pupils to dilate into dark pools. His breathing hurried and surged. Bringing his beautiful, brown eyes back up off of her body to meet her eyes with a tug, he went on, "But it's as if we were discussing a prize stallion breeding a mare… Not that that wouldn't be intriguing as well… Theoretically… I mean, the idea of a muscular, powerful stallion covering a luscious, silky-maned mare…"

Julia felt the slipping away of her control, spinning and spiraling downward as her knees grew weaker with the lustful urges that were clenching her insides tight. Her mind flashed it in front of her eyes – him on top of her, pushing in close, moving with his own, one, hypnotic, devastating rhythm. " _Speak_ ," she ordered herself, working to not draw his attention to her plummeting state. " _Something about… What was it? – Eugenics! That was it…_ " her brain tried. "Well, husbandry has been practiced for centuries," she finally said, although she heard the hunger, knew he heard it too, in her voice.

Oh my God, the world flipped over as he stepped even closer. "Mmm. Yes it has," he answered her, his breath hot, close, engulfing over her skin.

Suddenly, they were in their bedroom, him pressing her back into the wall with such a lovely, primitive, 'thud.' And gathering up her wrists, pinning them above her head, trapping her, helpless, at his mercy, against the wall. His chest heavy and solid, pushing into her bosom, her body reaching for him with all its might, he whispered enticingly in her ear, "Julia, have you ever seen that male part of a horse?" His knee lifted up in between her thighs, insistent and pressing, pushing them apart and opening her to him.

She felt his hands, so rough, so harsh, take a firm hold of her hips, and she seemed to be sinking into him, and floating at the same time. And she tried to pull him closer, to pull him hard, to force him closer to her, but she couldn't free her wrists, and she moaned and she begged for him, "William… Please. Oh my God, William I want you closer… Much, much closer."

And then the pleasure gushed through her with the delicious, overpowering pressure as he made love to her, and he moaned in her ear, his thrusts so earthshattering, demanding groans of effort, rocking her, filling her, touching her in the one place only he could. So close now, "William! Please," she urged, "Don't stop. Please…"

And then he seemed to pour into her, flooding her very core, melting it, the deluge spreading outward in scrumptious wave after scrumptious wave. _So wonderful… so very, very wonderful…_ And she wanted it to last forever, and she sucked up each last drop of the precious nectar… Seeming to feel a shift… W _as she against the wall?_ " _No, it's our bed_ ," her brain's thought bringing her down, slowing the spin, down to be grounded – she was in the bed. Her body still twitched, once, then once more… And he was holding her… And reality sunk in. It was just a dream. And his lips were kissing her face and he was telling her he loved her. And she was so happy, so warm and happy, in his arms.

While her heart pounded, so hard against her chest, that he could feel its thumping within his own, they lay together in the dark. And he stroked her curls. And he told her that when she called out his name like that, during such a dream, that it made him so happy. And it reminded of him of the time so many years ago when they had argued and then ended up sleeping together in his office, in his reclining chair, talking it all through. And she had asked him then – when she woke as she had just now, how it felt to know that he was the only man in the world who could make her dreams come true. And he had loved her so much that it felt like his chest might burst – to the point that it ached. And it still did.

The alarm rang, and they remembered, he remembered, he had to meet the Inspector, and George, at Judge Peterson's office, to face the charges of breaking the law in the gathering of evidence in the meatpacking case, and then it would be decided by the Chief Inspector, whether or not they would lose their badges.

))) (((

The three men shared a cab to the judge's office. Nerves were clearly on edge, particularly the constable's. William found himself feeling grateful that he had called and spoken with George last night, following Julia's advice, sharing with the younger man his own similar mistake, taking chances by breaking the rules on the case when he tried to pick the lock to Mulligan's office and he and Jackson had been attacked. Yes, he was glad he had reconnected with him; they felt like a team.

The Inspector offered hope, "Chief Constable Fletcher is a reasonable man. It certainly could be worse – could still be Chief Constable _**Davis**_ , from Stationhouse #5." The other two rolled their eyes with recognition of the unfair treatment they believed they would have received from Davis and nodded in agreement.

"Do you think I'll lose my badge, sirs?" George worried.

William reassured, "There will have to be some consequence, I'm sure, but there are grounds to argue for a suspension instead." His mind shot back to a time he had thought he'd lost his job, drowning him in a memory, of freeing Constance Gardner from the cells, and then never expecting to return to his job, or even Toronto… but then returning to find he had been suspended rather than dismissed, and that Julia was a married woman who would ultimately leave him completely when she ended up leaving the morgue to avoid the daily pain of working with him…

George interrupted the detective's thoughts, "I so hope… I mean I couldn't… Sir… I just don't know what I'll do if my actions end up hurting you, detective," George said, his heart exposed, out on the edge of his sleeve.

The Inspector's tone gruff, managing to convey a sense of confidence as a result, he commented, "Murdoch's job will be fine, bug-a-lugs." Interestingly, William found he felt a sense of relief with the Inspector's words – he must have been more worried about his own situation than he had let himself believe.

William decided not to say his next thought aloud, feeling a pang of distress with a flip of nausea that stirred in his gut keeping him silent. He was worried about the effect all of this would have on the case. " _The case is not as important as George,_ " he instructed himself. But, it irked him, to be so very certain of the truth, and yet helpless to accomplish the justice that should accompany it. The evidence, yes, illegally collected evidence – in the case of the letter-opener at least, convincingly revealed Mulligan's guilt. _If the rug got thrown out too_ … He sighed to himself as the carriage pulled up to the impressive building, _perhaps he was still too personally invested, still over-identifying with the victims, on this case._

Judge Peterson's aristocratically decorated office reflected his powerful connections with the most affluent members of Toronto society. Fortunately its size did as well, for there were quite a few men in attendance for this meeting – seven men in total, Judge Peterson, Inspector Brackenreid, Detective Murdoch, Constable Crabtree, Mr. Jeffers (the lawyer representing Davies Slaughterhouse), the owner of Davies Slaughterhouse, Mr. Thaddeus Davies, and his top manager, Mr. Liam Mulligan. They all sat in posh chairs dispersed throughout the vast, luxurious office.

William struggled briefly with whether to sit as he usually did, with one leg bent with his ankle over his other knee, or perhaps it would be better to cross his legs at the knees. He noticed the wealthier Toffs in the room crossed their legs at the knees. He grinned at his own rebelliousness, seeming to use this observation as a reason that he should sit, "his way." He took a deep breath to calm himself, and the resulting odor of the room registered the familiar smell of wealthy gentlemen – cigars. No one had one lit at the moment, but William observed a cigar butt in one of the ashtrays, instantly recognizing it as the brand of cigar Terrence Meyers used to smoke. Of course, Mr. Meyers was dead after blasting himself into space in Pendrick's rocket ship, so it must have belonged to someone else.

Only moments into the meeting, William was asked to present the evidence in question. Placing both feet firmly on the ground, he leaned forward in his chair and explained, eyes focused mostly on Judge Peterson, that the Constabulary had in their possession a letter-opener and a rug, both of which they had good evidence to suggest came from Mr. Mulligan's office. "We also have evidence collected from each of these items which…"

Right away, Mr. Jeffers interjected his lawyerly perspective, "With all due respect, detective, it is irrelevant what you have collected from these items – as they were obtained illegally, and thus, you have no right to use anything garnered from them as evidence in this case."

All eyes turned to the Judge as William and the Inspector both rallied to defend Stationhouse # 4's rights to the evidence. Stopping them, the Judge raised his hand in the air and said, "There are two matters we need to address here today gentlemen – whether or not these items were obtained legally, and if not, what the consequences will be to those parties who broke the law in obtaining them. If they were obtained legally, detective, then you will be able to use anything from them in the case that you would like, however, if they were obtained by means outside of the law, then you can use nothing from them."

The words came out of William's mouth before he considered censoring them, "And what about illegal actions taken against members of the Constabulary… like assault and abduction, and even attempted murder," his voice stern and growing in volume and confidence as his outrage steamed hotter and hotter from deep within him.

Mulligan was up out of his chair instantly, crossing the room to meet William, who stood to face the man head on. Things were definitely heating up fast. Mulligan uttered a veiled threat, aiming it directly at William, "If you hang around a slaughterhouse, sticking your nose where it does not belong, detective, you should not be surprised if you end up being mistaken for a **PIG**."

! Not a man remained seated.

William's eardrums pounded with fury! His memory of hanging on the meat-hook, between two pig carcasses, joining them on the overhead-assembly headed for the huge rotary saw, provided fodder that sent his emotions sailing immediately over any semblance of fear and landing firmly on anger and indignation with the man's insult.

Brackenreid jumped in, "That sounds like an admission of guilt Mulligan!" the Inspector asserted, his face red and his tone aggressive.

Mr. Jeffers piped in next, suggesting, "If the Constabulary wants to press charges against my clients for these wild claims, you are free to do so… But, gentlemen," his tone quieting, the lawyer slowed and took a deep breath, "this meeting is solely about the two items removed from Davies Slaughterhouse without my clients' consent, on the sixth of December." As Jeffers sat back down in his chair, the lawyer eyed Mr. Mulligan, who retreated to his chair on the other side of the room.

Taking a deep breath now that everyone had sat back down, Judge Peterson asked, "Chief Inspector, have you been made aware of Mr. Davies' and Mr. Mulligan's claims against Detective Murdoch and Constable Crabtree?"

"I have," Chief Inspector Fletcher said, "I believe time would best be served by allowing Constable Crabtree to tell us about his actions yesterday with respect to the two items in question."

The room's attention turned to George. He found himself looking for strength from his friend, mentor, and honestly, his hero, Detective Murdoch. Empowered by the man's nod, he took a deep breath. "Sirs," he started respectfully, "I must humbly, and with regret, tell you that, with respect to the letter-opener at least, the item was not taken legally…"

He was forced to pause as the men in the room reacted to his admission. Looks were shared, and a few nods, between the lawyer and his clients. It was somewhat telling, and did not escape the men from Stationhouse # 4's attention, that Mr. Davies shared a look with the Judge. For their parts, the Inspector and William sighed, acknowledging the anticipation of punishment.

George went on, "I want to make it clear that Detective Murdoch knew nothing of my actions in taking this letter-opener from Mr. Mulligan's office. However, I obtained the rug in question legally… It was found in the public refuse …"

"I must interject here," Mr. Jeffers stood to insert, "What evidence does the Constabulary have that this rug was previously in the possession of either of my clients?"

George stated plainly, "Well I saw it being dumped into the refuse wagon from a bin at Davies Slaughterhouse. I was there legally, asking some questions, I had just spoken with Mr. Mulligan in his office…"

"And stolen the letter-opener!" Mulligan threw in.

"But," George replied to the man, "I have admitted to that."

Chief Constable Fletcher said, "Gentlemen, the way I see it, the rug was obtained legally… And whether or not it provides sound evidence against either Mr. Davies or Mr. Mulligan is up to Detective Murdoch to prove. That includes how conclusively the rug in question can be linked to either man, as well as whether or not anything this rug has to offer will provide evidence of any one man's guilt in committing a crime."

The rounds of debate rattled on for quite some time, the meeting not ending until ten. In the end, Constable Crabtree was suspended without pay for a month for removing items from a private establishment without permission. Detective Murdoch received no sanctions. However, he was warned by the Judge to mind his p's and q's, because the detective's actions, previous to Constable Crabtree's gathering of these two controversial items, were seen as suggesting that the detective also may have been treading dangerously close to being in defiance of the law. Any use of the letter-opener as evidence was ruled out; however the rug was allowed in and could be used to provide evidence in the case.

While the Inspector, George and William rode back to Stationhouse #4 in a cab, it was relatively quiet, each man reflecting on all that had happened. It was not until they were nearly there that anyone spoke. It was George. His eyes catching William's he said, "I find I am constantly re-hearing in my head Mulligan saying that you deserved to be treated like a, " _ **pig**_ ," sir. It makes me furious."

The Inspector answered, "I told you these boys were rough Murdoch…"

"And powerful too," William added. There was a pause.

William asserted, "I won't be intimidated though. Mulligan murdered Ieva Baltavesky – there were no one else's prints on the weapon…"

"Make sure to go by the book, though, me old' mucker," the Inspector insisted.

William sighed. Of course, the Inspector was right – he had strayed, and he had best not do so again.

The Inspector heard Murdoch's sigh, knew his point had been made, and moved on, "Crabtree, it's going to be rough, no pay for a month."

William added, "I must admit, I was hoping for a little less time than that," his mouth curling at a corner as he looked at George.

Trying to find the bright side, George answered, "It could have been worse," to which all of them agreed.

))) (((

Entering the stationhouse, the Inspector and William picked up their messages, and then the Inspector headed directly into his office to deal with all the paperwork for George's suspension. Before William went into his office, in his mind thinking of calling Julia, he stopped with George as the constable gathered his things to start his suspension. George's desk was covered with the multitude of train logs Higgins had been searching through yesterday. William remembered walking past George last night on his way out, and that the constable had been looking through those particular logs. William realized now, that his tantrum, his uncharacteristic outburst, had been aimed largely at Higgins when his anger and disappointment had really been with George. He was flooded with shame and regret. He would need to apologize – to Higgins – and to all of the lads, actually…

"Sir," George said, pulling him out of his thoughts. "I researched this problem with identifying the train Adomas Baltavesky's body was found on… to see why Higgins was having so much trouble…"

"Yes George," William replied, his tone betraying his regret at his earlier outburst. William's eyes met George's, and the younger man's curiosity lifted his spirits. " _Back to the case!"_ he thought, relieved.

George flipped open a book and explained, "Well sir, in the summer months there are no passenger trains of any kind, from any location, that are actually anywhere near the reported stop at the reported time on Baltavesky's death report. He paused in leafing through the pages in the train records and looked at the detective, explaining, "Baltavesky's death report says he was found at nine in the morning on Tuesday, August 2, 1904, at the Wychwood Park stop. All passenger trains go through Wychwood Park much later than that, the closest one to that time stops at one in the afternoon. Prior to nine AM, the latest passenger train that goes through Wychwood Park is at eleven o'clock on the night before, sir."

"So that's what Higgins meant when he said he knew it was _not_ a passenger train. I see," the detective replied, feeling even sorrier about the way he had yelled at Henry.

George nodded, "There isn't a passenger train for miles, anywhere near there at the right time." Returning his gaze to the train logs piled all over his desk, George searched for a particular one. "There are some fr…

"Perhaps there is a passenger train that goes through Wychwood Park without usually stopping, but it stopped there on that day for some reason or another… Perhaps because they found the body?" the detective asked, wrinkling a corner of his mouth.

"No sir. There are no passenger trains at all on that line that would be anywhere near Wychwood Park for hours," he responded, returning to his search. "But sir, there are some freight trains that go through there in the early morning hours, like five and six in the morning."

"I see," William answered, "So, it makes the most sense that Baltavesky was found dead on a freight train then… And it made an unscheduled stop at Wychwood Park because they found the body."

"That's the best I can make out of it, sir," George agreed.

The two men dwelled for a moment, not wanting to move to the more distressing matter of George's suspension. William was the first to speak, "I am going to miss your assistance on this case, George."

"Sir, I just wish I hadn't messed it up so…" George said. He took a deep breath and made sure to look the detective in the eye, "I am truly sorry, sir," he said.

"I know George," William told him. "We'll find a way to get Mulligan. There's always more than one clue," he reassured.

"Yes, I'm sure you will. If anyone could figure it out, it's you sir," George replied, pushing himself to sound cheerful. He sighed and added, "Well, I guess I'll take my leave."

Staring at the mess on George's desk William said, "It looks like you'll need to do a little straightening up first."

"Yes," George said, starting the task.

"Good," William said with a nod and headed into his office. Thinking of something, he turned back, "George, before you go, could you make a list of the freight trains that did go through Wychwood Park that morning and where they were traveling to and from?"

"Glad to, sir," George replied, happy to be able to help.

Once inside his office, William found a note to call Miss James over at the morgue. " _Blood results from the rug!_ " he thought, quickly picking up the phone receiver. She gave him the good news – the blood on the rug was human. "Excellent!" William declared excitedly into the phone, "Thank you Miss James." He hung up the phone and immediately went to inform George and the Inspector.

Only a few minutes later, William sat at his desk talking on the phone with Julia. He informed her about the evidence that would be allowed in the case – and the new information that the rug had human blood on it – and then he told her that he had only received a warning, but that George had been suspended. It had been obvious that she too was greatly relieved that he did not receive any sanctions against him. However, quickly after her relief, she found her concerns fell to George. "A month without pay seems quite harsh as punishment, don't you think?" she asked his opinion.

She heard him sigh into the phone, giving a hint at his concern for George as well, before he replied, "Considering that he admitted to breaking the law, it certainly could have been worse. And I have to say, it seemed that Davies had this judge in his pocket. I guess with that in mind, it turned out much better than it could have…"

Listening from in their foyer at home, Julia could picture him with his mouth wrinkled considering the odds. She interrupted him, "William, a month without pay is likely to truly be problematic for George… financially I mean. It will be hard to find work for just a month." Here, she made herself stop. She was considering suggesting that _**they**_ give George some money to help with his expenses, but she also knew that her husband had faced many demons in becoming a rich man when he married her, and further, she suspected he still encountered them from time to time. Upon quick reflection, she worried that making such an offer would risk putting William in a position that would highlight his wealth. She changed the subject. "William, you should invite George over for dinner," she finally said.

Instantly, William thought it was a good idea.

Julia went on, "I actually just spoke to Emily. She is back from London, has been for a few weeks. She is heading down to Toronto from York right now on the train… to come to the Baby Shower William. She is coming to dinner tonight!"

William's heart warmed hearing the joy in her voice. " _And George would love to see Dr. Grace!"_ he reminded himself. "Yes, I'll ask him right now. Hold on," he said into the phone, feeling excited himself. William covered the receiver, so as not to harm Julia's ear as he raised his voice to call to George out in the bullpen, "George."

"Yes sir," George responded quickly, hurrying to the detective's office door. He leaned in, his face open and inviting and curious.

Lifting his hand away from the receiver so Julia could hear, William said, "Dr. Ogden and I would like to invite you to our house for dinner tonight. Uh, but before you answer, you should know we will be having two other guests, both of whom you are well acquainted with."

"Intriguing sir," George said, waiting.

William continued, "I don't think you were aware that Margaret Brackenreid is throwing a Baby Shower for my wife this Saturday…"

Such a big smile covered George's face, his care for Julia, and of course, also her him, so very obvious in that moment. "I am so happy for you both, detective," George said, still waiting to hear who the two guests would be tonight.

"Yes, uh… Thank you George," William answered, "Well some ladies are actually traveling to Toronto for the event."

Growing impatient, and yet his mind danced, wondering about the new clue – " _ladies_ ," George asked, "And?"

William was enjoying this greatly, for he had remembered that George was also fond of Ruby as well, "And Julia's sister is staying with us…"

"Oh, that is wonderful, sir. I would love to see the beautiful Miss Ruby Ogden again," he responded. He had nearly given up trying to guess who the other woman would be… It would have to be someone they all knew, " _Perhaps Rebecca James…_ "

William smiled, the expression having a tinge of slyness, "And your old friend, and often co-conspirator, Dr. Grace," he finally revealed.

"Dr. Grace! Emily Grace! She's back from England sir!" George declared, his glee palpable.

Julia bubbled with happiness on her end of the phone. William spoke to her, and she knew George was listening…

"It seems, Julia, that you have found a way to make our friend George's day better," William said. Then, asking George, he said, "Shall we take that as a yes?"

"Oh, yes sir… and doctor," George said trying to be loud enough to be heard in the phone, "Thank you both, I am very much looking forward to it. Dr. Emily Grace… And Miss Ogden, now that sounds like the makings of an exciting dinner."

Hearing Julia's voice in the phone, William didn't have time to follow the spark of dread he felt pop up in his mind for the briefest of moments with George's observation about this female duo. He had gotten so far as reminding himself that, particularly these two women, when together, are quite the hell raisers – and there was this air of embarrassment that seemed to come with the association… before he forced himself to pay attention to his wife who had been speaking in the phone receiver.

"William, tell George to be here at seven o'clock," Julia said, which he did.

"I'll be there with bells on," George said, excitement still fizzing in his voice. "Well, not literally. Did you know sir, that the saying, 'with bells on' comes from a term used to describe peddlers in the United States. I have been researching them for my latest novel. They would travel as silently as possible through Indian Territory, until they got to a settled area. Then they would they put a string of bells around their horses necks to announce their arrival to sell their wares."

"Oh," William replied. He heard Julia giggle quietly on the other end of the phone. He knew she found it funny when George's stories tried his patience.

George went on, "The peddlers' arrival was a much anticipated event, not only because of the goods they sold that the settlers needed, but also for the news they brought from the outside world, sir."

"Very interesting George," William said, hearing Julia laugh a little louder at his efforts.

"George added, this time causing William to sigh as he realized the story would be continuing, "Although, this time it will not be me, really, who is bringing the news… So, I guess I shouldn't be the one with the bells. It would be more Emily… and Miss Ruby," he concluded.

William responded, trying to get back on track, "Great George, so we'll see you there at seven o'clock then…"

"Oh yes! Thank you, I will most definitely be there," he answered with a slight bow, and then he took his leave.

"My goodness, he is lovely," Julia said to William.

Once again, William felt his heart warm; she was right, George was lovely. "Yes. Yes, he is," William said. Remembering another reason he had called her, he sat up straighter in the chair, "Oh, and Julia, have you gotten a chance to call Dr. Reynolds. He was supposed to be back in Stationhouse #5's morgue today, right?" he asked.

She told him she would call the other pathologist right after they hung up, and she would call him back as soon as she knew anything about Reynolds' input on the case. They said they loved each other and they said good-bye, and William decided he would buy her flowers – and peanut brittle. " _She so loves peanut brittle,_ " he reminded himself, with a smile and shaking his head, for he had remembered their lovely laughing together on their couch in the Windsor House Hotel, as they shared the treat, and it prompted Julia to remind him of the look on his face when, during the death by peanut-butter-in-a-skull case, when he had first recognized Julia dressed as a man in a gentlemen's club.

" _Back to the case_ ," he instructed himself. It seemed the next move would be bringing Mulligan and Davies in for questioning, but he needed to be very well prepared for these interviews. His mind shot to the possibility of using his truthilizer, the pneumograph machine he had invented years ago that monitored heart rate and blood pressure in response to answering questions. He would talk to the Inspector about it. Also, remembering a loose end, he would have a constable bring in the owner of the burlesque club, "The Moons," that used showgirl costumes that matched the outfit they found Ieva Baltavesky's body clothed in. The owner had said he would check with the performers to see if any of them had had one of these costumes taken or missing.

After speaking with the Inspector, they decided not to use the pneumograph when questioning Mulligan and Davies, as they had been treading on thin ice, and didn't want to take the chance of having Davies get his lawyer to bring Judge Peterson back into the case again. He set up the interviews for tomorrow.

Julia called with news from Dr. Reynolds. She sounded excited, and William consequently felt his chest filling with hope. "He said the case was very 'odd' William," she explained, "Dr. Reynolds told me that in the end the death was ultimately ruled as accidental, and although he never officially performed an autopsy on Baltavesky's body, when he first examined the body… It was brought into the morgue, uh, Dr. Reynolds rarely goes to the scene…"

"You see, Julia, once again I have to say, I have the best pathologist of them all," William interrupted, taking the moment as an opportunity to tell her how much he appreciated her – in this case – professionally.

On the other end of the line, Julia smiled. It was one of those compliments that worked, swelling her chest with pride. "Always nice to know I'm appreciated, detective," she replied, a twinge of flirtation in her tone. After a slight pause, she brought her own mind back to the case – it truly was exciting, and she knew her news would light him up. "So, Dr. Reynolds said that Baltavesky seemed to have been stabbed." She waited to enjoy his reaction.

His gasp traveled through the phone line, "Stabbed! Now that is interesting. Did he say why it was ruled an accident then?" William asked.

Thoroughly enjoying this, Julia smiled, the grin big enough that her husband could actually hear its presence in the shaping of his wife's words through the phone. "I will get to that, William, I promise, but I believe you will be interested in what Reynolds said about this stab wound…"

Oh, he was. "Yes. Yes," he answered.

"He said the location of the wound was, and I quote, 'weird.' It was under the right armpit," Julia went on, mystery and intrigue in her voice, "Does that remind you of anything William?" she asked.

The memory was clear as day in his mind, although it started, not with the victim, or even the case at the time. No, it started with, as it seemed almost every really charged memory of his did, it started with him and her. They were in the morgue. It was back when she was about to be married to Dr. Darcy Garland. She had asked him to shake her hand, which he did, but then she startled him, pulling his right arm into her body sharply and reaching up with one of her metal instruments in her left hand and feigning stabbing him under his armpit with it. She had held him in that position, their bodies closer together than they had been for quite some time, her magnificent, big blue eyes looking into his, she had held him there too long, and the sexual tension had tugged on him so… That is what he remembered… first.

Julia remained patient, for she too had gone through the round of interconnecting memories she figured he was experiencing right now, when Reynolds had described for her the wound he had found on Baltavesky's body.

Finally, he spoke, "Mortimer Shanly," he said, his voice almost misty in the phone, "The Defense Minister from during the American Civil War who stole gold from Canada to send to the Confederates in the USA. He had been killed with a similar wound,"

"Yes, I couldn't remember the victim's name," Julia replied.

William continued, "It had turned out that Shanly had been killed by a Union spy, named Jacobson I believe, who was left-handed – as you had speculated the killer would have been. Your idea of how such a wound would be made was brilliant! I thought so back then, and I think so now!" he declared.

"Thank you detective," she answered gleefully, standing up on her toes with a little bounce while she spoke with him on the phone in their foyer, "We have always made a good team."

Now it was William's smile that was big enough that she could hear it, "Yes, yes we have," he responded. Again there was a pause as both minds tried to return back to the case. It was William who accomplished it first. "So, it seems plausible… Well, um, if this was a means of killing used by American spies in 1863…"

"Then it would likely be a method used by American spies in 1904! Of course," Julia exclaimed. "William! That makes the rest of what I have to tell you even more fascinating," she declared.

Not thinking it was possible, William bolted even more upright in his chair with anticipation, "What is it!?…"

"It's what Dr. Reynolds said about why he didn't perform the autopsy," she answered, rushing with excitement to get the words out. "He said that he never got to do the post-mortem because the body was taken by the federal government later that day… The man who came by… Listen to this William! The man who came into Reynolds' morgue and took over the case was tall, wore a coat with tails, and William, he smoked smelly cigars!"

"Meyers!" William's voice steamed in reply.

"Amazing… But it fits, in a way. This case has been so convoluted and involves such dark forces. It is no surprise to me that Meyers would be involved. Even worse – the Americans too," she added.

"But Julia, Meyers is dead," William wondered. "But… this all did happen back in the summer… It must have been one of the last cases Meyers worked on before the 'Doomsday Threat' with the rocket aimed at New York City. Remember, Meyers went up into space in Pendrick's rocket?"

Oh, she remembered, for her husband had also gone up – almost into space himself. And flew back down to Earth in a 'flying suit,' and then slid down into the 70-meter-deep barrel of a rocket to disarm it and save the world, thus, her husband had been a hero once again. Yes, she definitely remembered it. "I do," she answered, adding, "And you promised if you ever had such adventures again that you would be taking me with you."

Her words lingered… He rubbed his forehead, feeling a bit stressed by her request, and he sighed. He was never going to be comfortable with her being placed in such danger – and he was completely aware that having such feelings suggested that he was a hypocrite and might indicate that he wasn't as much of a 'modern man' as he thought he was– nor as _she_ thought he was. "Julia… I have no way of knowing when 'such adventures' are going to happen. And besides…" Now, here he would risk exposing himself. "…You are pregnant, Julia." William cringed slightly, waiting for her attack.

Silence… " _Not good_ ," he thought, holding his breath.

"I see your point," she finally said, giggling to herself at the sound of his sigh of relief in the phone.

Then, with his deep breath preceding his words, William said, "This is all very exciting Julia. Was there anything else?"

It was quiet as Julia ran through her earlier conversation with Dr. Reynolds in her mind. Then she added some final details, "Baltavesky had a blow to his head and also multiple defensive wounds on his arms, and bruised knuckles likely from landing a few punches of his own. Of course, detective, he could have received these and the stab wound during different incidents. Without being able to do a post-mortem, Reynolds could not be sure whether it was the stabbing or the blow to his head, or even something else that had killed him. Further, he said that the men who had brought the body to him – constables from Stationhouse #5 if he remembered it right, had told him that the body had been found between two of the train cars… And William, he thought he remembered there was reason to think he had fallen there from one of the roofs of a train car. He said that he thought one of the constables had told him that he saw blood up on the roof of the train car, right above where the body was found."

"Very informative," William said, "Thank you Julia. You never cease to amaze me."

"I try," she responded happily, if not a bit seductively.

William turned to considering calling Detective Dermott…

"Oh, and William," Julia's voice caught his attention again. "Dr. Reynolds said he thought there were some effects collected with the body. Perhaps they still have them at Stationhouse #5… If they weren't taken by our friend Meyers, if that's who the government man actually was," she added.

"Wonderful, Julia," he responded. "I think I'll venture a call over to Detective Dermott, see what I can get out of the man," he explained.

"Good luck, William," she said. She hoped her tone conveyed her compassion for him in this strained situation. Besides her husband's own controversial and dodgy history with those at Stationhouse #5 over the years, she was fairly certain that William had also sensed that Detective Dermott had a tendency to behave inappropriately with _her_. She hadn't had to deal with Dermott since she had married William. She wondered if the man would behave better with her now that she was married – and to a fellow detective, but, truth be told, she doubted it. She pictured William, sitting at his desk, rubbing his brow and wrinkling his mouth with skepticism about having much luck with anything that involved Stationhouse #5. Wanting to comfort him, and to ground him, she said, "You know I love you William. I love you so very, very much."

Her words sunk deeper than she might have expected into him, accomplishing their goal. He smiled – and his mind drifted once again to buying her roses. And he was reminded to thank his lucky stars. "And I you," he told her. "I will try to be home early," he added before they said their good-byes and they hung up.

Later, William was on the phone with Ettie Weston when George appeared at his office door. He noticed the constable had a train log in his hands. He held up a finger, requesting a moment, and then put his attention back to listening to the Madame from Winnipeg, and his own first real lover, informing him of what she had found out about Ieva and Adomas Baltavesky. George gave the detective his space, going back to his desk to wait for him to finish the call.

Ettie's voice revealing her awareness of his concern with this touchy matter, she continued, "Ieva got the more recent "whip-lash" marks you had been worried about, Will, from prostituting with a very rough crowd while here in Winnipeg. Another woman who worked in the same circle said that Ieva had told her that her husband was coming into lots of money and she just needed to make it through till the money he sent arrived…" Ettie paused, but he asked nothing, so she went on, "Adomas used to work here in Winnipeg, and often all over Canada it turns out, for Edward Burns. He is…"

"He owns the biggest cattle and beef operation in Canada. Yes Ettie, I know of him. He has a business here in Toronto, northeast of here. I wonder if Mr. Baltavesky came to Toronto to work there," William asked, sounding excited.

A big smile covered Ettie's face. It had always brought her great pleasure to make this particular man happy. She marveled a bit now, many miles and so many years away from when she had been so very close to him, she marveled at the feelings doing so stirred inside of her, still. Ettie added, "Supposedly, Ieva's husband was big and strong, and had worked loading refrigerated meat onto trains for Burns for over a year."

William took a deep breath, drawing her attention and preparing her for a change in their conversation. "Ettie," he asked, "What can you tell me about these meat magnates, Burns and Davies?" He wondered for a moment if he should add the American meatpackers to his list for her to consider, thinking of the stab wound and its link to American spies. _"Ettie would likely know about these men too. They likely travel to Winnipeg on business and would look for a woman such as Et…_ "

Ettie's tone took on a somber, serious ring, "Will, I really must remind you that I know these men… in this meatpacking industry, to be… ruthless, dangerous, almost dementedly vicious men. Perhaps it is because of the way they make their living… It is by its very nature ruthless, based on a dog-eat-dog, the more powerful living off of the weak, mentality, a whole industry built around raising living, breathing, feeling creatures for the sole purpose of killing them. There is inherently such a betrayal in what they do. I'm not really sure why, but, Will, I know that these men are like no others when it comes to cruelty and greed… and… power."

She heard him sigh into the phone. " _Was it fear, reluctance to move forward with the case, heeding her warning?_ " she wondered, immediately knowing she was wrong to think so. She knew Detective William Murdoch well. No, _this man_ would feel the need to seek justice for those abused by such powerful men even more so upon seeing that the abuse of power was so much worse in this case. No, she understood, his sigh was about how to handle _her_ concern for him.

She would save him the trouble, "I guess my trying to warn you off is useless," she said with a slight giggle.

William reached up and rubbed his forehead, the pain in his shoulder from hanging on the meat-hook, and in his buttocks from all of Julia's injections, had surged into flaring alert, but… he too knew her efforts were useless. He would see this through, come hell or high water. William cleared his throat and repeated his question, "All the more reason for you to share with me what you know, Ettie."

So she did. Ettie told him that Burns and Davies were fierce competitors who seemed to adamantly hate each other. It seemed personal with them. That differed from our meat magnate neighbors to the south. The Americans were all greed. Every decision made by these men was made for improving profit. She wondered if any of them, Armour, Durham, or Brown ever thought of anything but money and power and gaining a stronger advantage over everyone else. She claimed that they seemed to lack any semblance of a heart, or a conscience. At least with the Canadians, there were emotions. They were fiery and dangerous and violent emotions, but they came from the heart.

He asked if she had any idea why Ieva would have been looking for her husband at Davies Slaughterhouse – he had reports that she specifically asked for directions to Davies' place – rather than looking for him at Burns' meat-packing establishment. They agreed there was a good chance that Adomas had been working at Davies Slaughterhouse, perhaps as a spy for Burns. Ettie told William, though he would have guessed at this point on his own, that it would have been very dangerous to be involved in any way with _**both**_ Davies and Burns. If either one got a whiff of evidence that you might be double-crossing them by really working for the other, you would certainly risk ending up dead.

 _It nagged at William though, that the stab wound under Adomas Baltavesky's armpit was so firmly linked to American murder methods…_ He thanked her. She told him anytime, and she meant it. They left it that he might end up in Winnipeg at some point on this case, and if he did, he agreed to stop in and see her. They said good-bye.

William put questioning people at Burns' business on his list for tomorrow. He called George in. What George had discovered about the freight trains that travel through the town where Baltavesky's body had been found on the train, Wychwood Park, only solidified William's urgency to learn more about Burns' establishment. George showed him that the freight train going through Wychwood Park at a time closest to nine o'clock in the morning, going through around seven o'clock, traveled from Winnipeg directly to Burns' meatpacking complex, which it turns out, is also in Stationhouse #5's jurisdiction. This freight train carries only one item – refrigerated meat. He thanked George, who closed the book and headed out.

William's mind wound back to the summer. _Trains carrying meat needed to keep it cold. From what he knew, there were 'ice stations' along the train route. Ice needed to be loaded into the roof compartments. The denser, cold air would sink down covering the meat in the car. The ice needed to be replaced often to ensure the meat didn't spoil. It would take big, strong men to load this ice… Then it hit him – hard! This summer! This summer people had died, from bad meat!_ George! He hollered, calling the man back.

His right-hand man stood instantly in his doorway, box in hand, reminding William that he was suspended. "Yes sir?" he queried.

"Oh," the detective said, disappointment in his tone and expression, "I forgot. Sorry. Could you send Higgins in?" he asked.

"Gladly sir," George replied. He couldn't help himself though. His curiosity steamed, for it was obvious – the detective had discovered something. "Can I ask sir, what you have found?" he wondered.

Faced with putting his thoughts into words, William quickly realized how speculative it all was. It felt like a structure built out of tiddlywinks that suddenly started to fall apart. Reaching up to rub his forehead – even George had come to know the subconscious meaning this gesture had in the detective's case – William said, "Of course it is all just one possible theory… Um, actually, I want to gather a bit more evidence before I explain it." He took a deep breath and continued, "I need newspapers from this summer, from when that spoiled meat killed some people – I think in New York City and maybe Buffalo, maybe here in Toronto too. I'm not sure…"

George got it, though – the link between this case and that event. It sent a chill down his spine. This was big – and very, very dangerous indeed.

))) (((

William had decided not to call Detective Dermott yet, now that he was beginning to understand how complicated and dangerous this case actually was. He needed a better idea of how Meyers had fit into it all. He was heading home now – in a cab. Happy to be early, yet he still itched with the wish to be riding his wheel rather than sitting still and letting the horse do all the work. He shook his head, he had trouble believing that it was only hours ago that he had rushed out of the house, not wanting to be late to the appointment with the Judge. It really felt like that had been days ago.

As the carriage reached his street, he imagined walking in the front door. He wondered if Dr. Grace would be there this early. Then the memory took shape, coinciding with a strange sexual excitement which mixed with a form of dread, in his gut. The last time both Emily Grace and Ruby Ogden visited himself and his wife, they had all been involved in quite a ruckus. He knew back then, had been able to correctly predict, that when these two ladies had Julia to themselves for a few hours, they would get her to share with them the more personal… sexual, aspects of their marital relationship. He chuckled out loud to himself with the memory. He had come home well-prepared, had 'interrogated the witnesses' – Emily and Ruby – in the case of Julia Ogden's "kissing and telling." It had really been great fun. But, it surely was also uncomfortable. He was already blushing, and the carriage hadn't even stopped yet. He worked to lower his internal temperature, breathing out through pursed lips, he reminded himself to breathe.

William stepped out of the cab, roses and peanut-brittle in hand, and reached up to pull his maroon scarf tighter around his neck. The December wind was harsh this evening. He noticed he could see the smoke of his breath as he walked down their front path, happy to see their remarkable house in the dusky hues. For just a moment, he remembered to thank God for all he had. Then up the front-porch steps, keys jingling, doorknob turned, he stepped into the cozy light…

No one came. He already had his hat, scarf and coat off by the time he had gathered all the clues – _delicious smells and humming and clanking from the kitchen, Eloise is alone cooking; lights on and drinks on the coffee table in the living room, only two glasses, Dr. Grace isn't here yet, and they haven't gone far; then Julia's laugh, bubbling up the stairs from the basement – Julia and Ruby were downstairs together._

It wasn't until he was halfway down the stairs that he felt the familiar aching surge in his buttocks. The bright sounds of the sisters' talking was coming from Julia's lab-room, and he figured she was preparing his penicillin treatments for this evening and tomorrow morning, and he was certain he had really had enough of this. He rolled his eyes as he fought with himself about resisting letting Julia inject him anymore with the painful, thick, bruising medication, and he lost his battle to himself, and had already accepted his fate by the time he stood in the doorway, love trinkets in hand.

Funny, what things strike you… It was the wayward curl dangling around Julia's face that did it this time – took his breath away. She stood at the sink, mixing her concoction. Her eyes bounced between her work and her sister's eyes as she spoke. He would never remember what she was saying, so taken with the vision of her…

She caught sight of him in the background, behind Ruby, at the door. Their eyes met. Her smile bloomed. "William," she declared, with her eyes growing big and dancing back and forth between his beautiful brown eyes and his flowers, and that box, and she recognized it… "Peanut brittle!" she exclaimed, putting down a bottle of penicillin and rushing over to him.

She had every intention of keeping up the pace, hurrying to maintain the advantage of her head-start on Ruby, landing quickly into his arms.

William himself was glad for her efforts, not having to deal with Ruby's forwardness, at least not this time. He found her ear with his lips, sucked in the scent of her first, and then said quietly, intimately, "I did promise to never stop courting you." He kissed her ear, then her neck, softly, a light flicker, tempting and foreshadowing, before he pulled back.

The three of them talked together for a while, there in the lab-room. Julia suggested that she administer William's treatments now, to get it over with before Emily and George arrived. Ruby excused herself, heading upstairs to put the flowers in a vase and then freshen up before dinner, leaving the two of them alone.

William locked the door behind his sister-in-law and then took off his jacket. Pulling the knot out of his tie, William began to remove all the barriers of clothing blocking access to the wound on his shoulder. He noticed the tiny smile on his wife's face, prompting him to ask, "What?"

Despite enjoying the stirrings watching him undress brought inside of her body, her mind had somehow remained more practical. She took a deep breath, thinking she had him pretty well figured out. He was avoiding the most unpleasant part – the injection. She couldn't really blame him. She tucked her chin down and looked up at him, her big blue eyes sparkling, "If we are really going to get the worse part of this over with, you'll need to lower your trousers, detective," she said. She watched as his misery made it to the surface.

He swallowed, fighting back the dread, ensuring his voice wouldn't crack when he answered. He decided not to answer at all. He just reached down and undid his trousers, and then turned around and lowered them, revealing his derriere, feeling the cool air lap against his bare skin as he held his shirt tails up out of the way. Experience had taught him that it hurt more if he bent over, stretching the muscle that would receive the thick liquid. So he remained upright, waiting.

Julia regretted it then, her tendency to tease him about his aversion to these injections. His sexy, well-shaped, bicycle-riding bottom was heavily speckled with badly bruised, black-and-blue swellings spread here and there across his flesh, each one swollen, and she already knew without having yet touched them, hot with their store of blood. Part of her brain worked on dealing with the practical problem of finding a place to inject tonight's dose that wasn't already bruised, while another part another raced away with thoughts of saying aloud that she agreed with him, and that the treatments, at least this part of them, should stop.

William waited, unsure if he was glad for her delay or whether it just increased the sense of being tortured. Impatience won out. "Is everything alright Julia?" he asked, still facing away from her. He heard her sigh…

"It looks awfully painful William. I'm so sorry," she said.

He wrinkled his mouth; there was no denying that. He sighed and encouraged her, "It's all in the name of science."

"You are so very lovely William," she replied. She stepped closer, choosing a spot off to the side, and administered the shot. "I think we'll stop these after tomorrow morning," she said as he pulled his trousers back up. She helped him strip down all the clothing covering his top half, so that he was soon standing before her in only his underwear and trousers, and he sat gingerly on a stool, preparing for her to treat the wound on his shoulder.

She stepped in close to him, business-like. He enjoyed this part, the medication calming the sting and the care from his wife, her expert hands, soothing. "It is definitely healing faster and better than it would have normally," she said while she dabbed penicillin salve on the cleaned injury.

"Mm," he replied.

"It would be best if I had a comparison… Do you think it is too… tacky, to ask to examine Jackson's wound?" she wondered.

" _It is good science to have something to compare results to… and Jackson would make a good control specimen in most respects, having the same type of wound as me, and at the same time, and he was treated in the same hospital… And he did not get penicillin administered while I did_ …" William reasoned. "He will be working tomorrow. You could come in and ask him if he would be willing to help you… with your… experiment," he suggested.

She leaned back to better see his face. He gave her a smile. It jolted her – she had been working to suppress her lustful urges since when he had first started to loosen his tie. She put her eyes back on his shoulder, and said, "Just the bandage to go," she said, "Then…"

He wrapped his arms around her and pulled her tight between his legs, his face nestling pleasantly just above her bosom, he kissed her chest through her dress, dwelling on a button, and he whispered, "And then what, doctor?"

Julia wanted to say something striking, but nothing came to mind. Finally she settled on, "And then I'll show you how much I appreciate the flowers and candy you brought for me."

"Oh… But, are you not concerned… You, uh… tend to express somewhat, noisy appreciation, of such things…" he teased her.

She placed the bandage down on his shoulder, pretending not to be flirting, and said, "I will not deny it…" And then she chuckled with her thought before she added, "There is even a parrot that can provide evidence to attest to it – perhaps is still even doing so, as we speak, at this very moment over at the Windsor House Hotel…"

William's hands slipped down to admire and explore her curved and sensuous buttocks, and he noticed her wonderful smell as his face pressed against her, just before he joined her with a chuckle of his own.

She was sealing the tape around the bandage now. Oh, but it was a struggle not to moan in response to his delectable touching. Her insides clenched tight, and she could feel the lovely sensation of her insides growing with want for him. His hands traveled, riding the curves along the outside of her body, out over her hips, then, despite her advanced stage of pregnancy, still inward along the sides of her waist, and then out again up her ribcage, until they reached their destination, taking hold of her bosom, pushing her cleavage together enticingly, still hampered by the meddling presence of her dress.

Sitting on the stool, he found that her bosom was a perfect height, and William happily tucked his face into her cleavage. There were buttons, lots of buttons to contend with. It was Julia who started at the top of her dress and hurried to give him access to her supple, malleable flesh. Her dress soon slid to the floor, pooling at her feet. There was no corset, and her petticoat was soon gone as well, seemingly resting halfway across the floor, from having been slipped over her head and flung quickly aside.

 _Oh my God, delicious and heavenly, and so soft, and spongy, and marshmallowy,_ his mouth sucked and tasted every inch of her uncovered flesh and he grew desperate with need. Her bloomers, off, he stood, reaching down around her to pick her up into his arms and turn, resting her bottom on the lab-table. He wanted to taste more, to feel her warm body surround him. She spread and lifted her legs, bending them at the knees and he helped guide them over his shoulders, and he paused, allowing the exquisite sight of her, framed in such a lush forest of curly hair, and the scent of her nearly devastated him, as he forced her to wait for the magnificent moment when he would touch her, in the one place where she so very urgently wanted him to touch her…

Later, both re-dressing, William walking around naked, the one in charge of traveling the lab-room retrieving the various items of clothing, they heard the doorbell. William found his pocket watch with his vest and checked the time, "Six-thirty," he told her.

"Probably Emily then," she reasoned. Julia felt a tug of happiness at the thought of seeing Emily again, making note of her body's reaction, she knew she had missed her, more than she had acknowledged up until now.

They rushed to finish dressing, but figured Eloise would probably get to the door before either of them could. However, the pounding of hurried footsteps on the stairs up above them indicated that it would be Ruby who got there first. Julia said to William, "We should still hurry or there will be… consequences."

He shook his head and joined her with a quick laugh. He knew exactly what she meant… Ruby would take the opportunity to imply that they had been making love and that was why they arrived to the door late. There was a quiet glee in the fact that she would have been right, too.

"Is my hair a fright?" Julia asked, otherwise ready.

William's eyes dwelled on that same dangling curl that had hit him so hard when he first saw her earlier from the lab-room doorway, and he marveled at the resurgence of love in his heart. "It's lovely," he replied.

She couldn't help it – his chocolate-brown eyes melting her as they so often did, she told him, "My God, husband, your eyes just floor me sometimes. They are beyond gorgeous, William," she said, gazing into them.

He started to protest her compliment, but she stopped him, sliding her elbow into his arm, "Before you claim that they are not special, that your eyes are not any more remarkably beautiful than any others, I will remind you of at least two waitresses, whom I know of, who fell head-over-heels in love with those big, warm, brown eyes the moment they saw them."

" **Two?** " he questioned, certain to never forget the first, for he had responded lustfully to that particular young woman's flirtations, deeply hurting Julia as she watched him ogle the waitress in the process… No, he would never forget that first one, but he was not so clear about the second…

Julia spared him, explaining, "The second one was in the Indian Restaurant, William… the night we took George out to dinner… to make up for leaving his Author's Awards Dinner early… because of …"

He remembered now, and finished her sentence, the regret he still felt for hurting her so badly palpable in his voice, "Because of the first one. We had to leave George's dinner early, because I…" he would use Isaac Tash's words that suggested that his lustful imaginings were not only common among men, but also ultimately posed his and Julia's amazing love no threat, he would use Julia's friend's words to try to cope, "Because I behaved like a 'dog' when the first one, a waitress at George's dinner, flirted with me… I, um… Yes, yes it's true, she complimented my eyes."

Julia glanced sideways at him, already knowing he would have pinched a corner of his mouth into his familiar 'admitting-it-all' face, and she squeezed his arm tight. "I do so love you, William Murdoch," she told him.

As they headed up the stairs together, Julia remembered she had wanted to ask William about giving George some money to help him cope with his suspension without pay. " _It will have to wait_ ," she thought.

As they reached the top of the stairs, Emily exclaimed, leaning even further back to take in the look of her, "Julia! You are so enormously pregnant!"

A huge smile took Julia's face as she placed her hands on her hips, turned sideways and arched her back and wiggled her hips, exaggerating her swollen baby bulge, "I am," she declared through her grin.

Emily looked over at the detective, whose smile rivaled his wife's. "And detective, you look quite happy about it!" she added.

All eyes turned to William. "That I am, Dr. Grace," he agreed, taking his wife into an embrace, adding a quick kiss. He kept his arm around her until Emily stepped closer and Julia gave her a hug.

Ruby complained, "William! Emily! You two act as if you were at work, dealing with some grisly murder! For heaven's sake, address each other properly…" Eyeing William she elaborated, "Emily was the bridesmaid at your wedding, for God's sake."

Julia and Emily pulled apart and Emily said to the detective, "I am willing… William."

William nodded, and with a slight bow to her told her, "As am I, Emily."

Once George arrived, and hugs were shared between old friends, the five of them enjoyed a lively, long dinner, with a jolly atmosphere, celebration in the air. The mood only dampening briefly when talk of George's month-long suspension without pay came up.

William looked on as a fellow policeman, a man like himself from a humble background, suddenly had to deal with being amongst friends, who it turned out were also significantly wealthier than he. William held his tongue, for he realized that he was one of these wealthy friends himself now… and he felt it in his gut; he was not comfortable with it at all.

))) (((

Later than was probably good, at least for William who had to go to work the next day, the party finally broke up and George and Emily headed out to share a cab, him going to his home, her to her hotel. The others would never know, but George and Emily stopped at a bar for a drink together first. There were romantic stirrings. They both had seemed to accept their presence, to be willing to see what happened…

Ruby went to her bedroom, William and Julia to theirs. As they prepared for bed, William's mind was focused on a conversation he and George had had after dinner, about why George went to question Mulligan the day he ended up taking the letter-opener and following the refuse wagon to the dump to find the rug.

George had remembered, as now did William, that none of the men the Constabulary had questioned from Davies Slaughterhouse, the day after Jackson and himself had been attacked and hung up to be killed on meat-hooks, none of those men had fingermarks that matched those on the victim's locket and the garbage-pail lid. That's why George had brought the list Mulligan had originally supplied them with, supposedly complete with the names of all of the men who worked on that Monday when the attack occurred, to ask if Mulligan had left anyone off of the list. George told William that Mulligan had claimed the list was all-inclusive. George said that he had speculated that, if a name had been left off of the list, and both George and he had figured it would have been intentional on Mulligan's part to do so, then that would be the man who matched the fingerprints at the scene where Ieva's body had been left. He said he also figured it might be the same man Constable Hogan had questioned the Saturday before, at Davies slaughterhouse – the man Hogan thought recognized the pictures of Ieva and her husband, Adomas.

William leaned over the sink, brushing his teeth, marginally aware of Julia moving about around him. His mind flashed a memory. He and Constable Hogan had gone to Davies Slaughterhouse looking to see if Hogan could find the man he had questioned there… _"Was that the same day, the Monday of the attack?_ " William strained to remember.

The flash continued. They were standing down at the bottom of the stairs that led up to the offices, speaking with Mulligan. William remembered he had hoped to be brought up to Mulligan's office, that he had wanted to check for the green rug. Mulligan had said that there would be three possible men who could be the man Hogan had questioned on Saturday. He agreed to give them their names and addresses. Then the important part replayed in William's mind, sending a chill through him, suggesting the significance of the event, Mulligan called upstairs to someone… to a man, who was out of their sight – Hogan had not been able to see that man! – " _Mulligan called him by name… It was an Irish-sounding name – began with a 'K' or a 'C,_ " William thought, wrinkling his face with doubt as he put the toothbrush away. When the man answered from upstairs he could hear that the man had an Irish brogue… And… yes, he was certain of it, Mulligan told this man the three men's names were in a book. William wanted to see that book. It would have the names of everyone that worked at Davies Slaughterhouse in it… And William still had this list of three men – _"It would have the hidden man's handwriting! – maybe even his fingerprints! – It was back at the station…_ "

"William," Julia finally managed to say with enough insistence to pull him out of his thoughts…

He turned abruptly to face her in the bathroom doorway, "Oh… Sorry," he said.

She ducked her chin in and laughed as she approached. "What was happening in that beautiful mind of yours, detective?" she asked. She knew her husband well; he had been thinking about the case. "The wheels are turning, hmm?" she added, now stretching her arms up and carefully wrapping them around his neck, expertly avoiding hurting his injury. Her smell enclosed him, and her lips kissed and teased his neck and his ear. Instinctively, he took her in his arms, the luscious sensations of her warm, supple flesh so very enticing. They fit nearly perfectly together, the lack of perfection due to the presence of their baby nestled cozily between them, making her closeness all the more miraculous, and even better than perfect.

William took a deep breath, conflicted between straining to remember his thoughts, so sure they had been important, and yielding completely to her charms, already feeling aroused. Ultimately, he ended up stuck, unmoving, still not yet accepting the loss of his train of thought.

"Come to bed," Julia whispered, hoping to pull him away, to save him, albeit only for a time, from being swept up by the dark forces of his latest case.

"Mmm," he replied, and then he took her into a kiss...

))) (((

Total darkness. Horrid, horrid stench permeating into the nostrils through the darkness. Can't breathe! Cold, frigid cold, shivering relentlessly. So dark – blackness, only blackness. Can't move! Naked! Sealed, Wrapped like a cigar in the dark – Can't move. Clanging, in the dark… Clanging like chains. A moan… It's mine!

So dark. Sharp, piercing, pain in my shoulder. Tightly wrapped. The smell of Meyers' cigar. Magnified and echoing away into the cold, dank – Meyers' laugh. So dark! No floor! No walls! Only blackness. No boundaries – No ground. Floating in the dark, only pain and stink.

The Inspector's voice in the dark, "You're being warned off Murdoch… a nasty lot that sticks together, tough, like the O'Shea's crew down at the docks."

Must get free! "Kick, Kick! Struggle! Fight! Punch at the dark! Hands bound.

Julia's voice, convoluted, "Such Dark Forces!" Can't breathe. Julia – I want Julia. Sobbing, I hear sobbing in the blackness – My Sobbing! It's me! Chains clanging again – so close now.

Is that Ettie? Twisting, spinning, her words swim in the dark, "A whole industry built around raising living, breathing, feeling creatures for the sole purpose of killing them. Men like no others when it comes to cruelty and greed… and… power."

An evil voice pierced the strangling darkness – only needing to whisper, Mulligan's stinking breath pungent with feces and decaying meat, humid in my face in the dark. Close, very, very close, "Surprised detective… that you end up being mistaken for a **PIG**." Spinning.

Coming out of the darkness - not far away – the whirring started. So loud I need to cover my ears… Can't move… gravity shifting, flipping – Now the saw blades screaming below me. The clanging again … Breath stolen! Falling! Falling so fast – in the dark – into the saw blades… Oh my God, the sound, of flesh and bone striking the blade. Oh my God, No! It's mine. It's me against the cold, razor-sharp, blade…

William's legs kicked away from the blade below him, shining jagged metal spinning in the dark. The motion, his own motion, awakened him with a startle. _Dark… Not cold… No stink… Bed… I'm in bed. Just a dream, only a dream._ William's heart pounded so fiercely that he wasn't sure he wouldn't die from it. _Julia!_ He propped up on an elbow, searching for her in the darkness. Gray outlines coming into view… _It's her. She's there. She's fine.. She's asleep… Everything's fine. Breathe William._

William sat up in bed, in the dark. It was a dream… _Thank God_. " _Pound, pound, pound,"_ went his heart battering against his chest, and the blood throbbed blaringly in his ears. But, it was slowing. _Breathe_. He would be fine. Everything is alright. He reached up and rubbed his brow, the action comforting him.

" _Get up,_ " he coached himself, _"Get out of here for a minute."_ Standing next to the bed now, naked, like he had been in the dream… he found his pajama bottoms in the dark, at his feet. " _Oh yeah, we made love again,_ " he remembered.

Downstairs, so grateful for the light, he made a pot of hot chocolate. It was intentional this time, his making too much. " _Guess I hope she comes down_ ," he realized. He sat at their kitchen table, in his usual seat, the warm cup of hot chocolate clasped in his fingers, offering him comfort. He exhaled, sending away the fear through pursed lips, relieving the pressure. Again. " _That's better_ ," he soothed himself. He massaged his scalp, lacing his fingers through his hair. His fingers eventually covered his bandage. That nightmare had really happened. Under this very bandage there was proof.

William gulped down the remaining chocolate in his cup. He needed to move. It was the only way to shake off the fear that was still trapped inside of him. He rinsed out the dishes, and then put them in the dish-washing cupboard. He knew what to do. He would go downstairs into his workroom, to work out with his weights. It would make him stronger, and it would burn away the dread. There was no doubt of the power of the dark forces he would have to face, that he was already facing. That they would not expect him to so boldly take them on was his only advantage. They would underestimate him. He would bring them into the light. In the light they would be powerless. He would need a plan.


	9. Chapter 9: So many Strings

Murdoch in the Jungle_8_ So Many Strings

The alarm clock rang, its trumpeting, noisy, disturbance growing louder and louder in the darkness as its human targets fell out of sleep. Julia's mind began immediately, " _It's Friday. He has to go to work…"_ she thought orienting herself. The alarm's demanding call continued, " _He's slow to rouse_ ," she wondered, propping up on an elbow, checking her belief that he was there, right there, next to her in their bed.

William had had a difficult night, plagued by nightmares and their resulting insomnia, only having finally fallen back to sleep about an hour ago. She heard him take a deep breath first, _or was it more of a sigh?_ She felt the mattress shifting now, her eyes sufficiently adjusted to the early morning dim that she could see the shadow of him rise and extinguish the blaring alert.

William settled back down into his warm spot in their bad, his brain already planning the day. " _There were the interviews of Mulligan and Davies – at eleven_ ," he reminded himself. Odd, a sure sign that he was stressed, he hadn't even thought of her until he felt her move closer. " _Julia!_ " his heart soared with its remembering, happy.

As she slid her long, silky-smooth, bare leg up his body to drape it over her husband's hips, her, _"yummy, luscious, gorgeous husband_ ," she noticed he had his pajama bottoms on. Her own nakedness attested to it – they had made love again last night, and when she fell asleep he had been naked too. " _He must have gotten up in the middle of the night,"_ she reasoned, yet her focus was strongly, urgently, on the here and now, and so she pushed the thought aside and continued in her seduction. She moaned softly as her fingers glided along the sturdy rippled muscles of his chest, grateful for the feel of his skin.

Her breathing was amplified, the rhythm hurried, each exhale hot and long and humid in his ear, attesting to her state of heightened lust. He felt it instantly, tugging at him, filling and lifting his groin, rushing his own hunger.

Her voice was misty as she whispered, "I think you're going to be late this morning, detective." Her fingers pinched him, evoking a small gasp, and he felt her mouth smile against the flesh of his neck as she took a warm, velvety hold on him, before she sucked him in, firmly, and he felt his head begin to fall and spin.

Needing to clear his throat first, his voice was still raspy as he teased, "Oh, so along with all of her other talents, my wife can predict the future now."

"Mm-hmm," she answered, hampered from elaborating for her mouth was full.

He felt her melt heavily down into him in response to his taking her in his arms, and he opened his neck to her advances, and she sucked harder and harder on his flesh, with a rhythm that called to his most primitive core.

William, quickly losing his mind as it rushed ahead, his own breathing flaring, imagined the delicious feel of her wildest yearning for him, sultry, slippery and throbbing with heat. And then, Julia moved her knee higher over his stomach, luring him, giving him even easier access, and his hand travelled the scrumptious curve of her bottom, following it inwards, to her lush offering. His moan was big with the discovery of her burning need for him. " _Oh my God, so ripe_ ," the thought swirled and swam inside of him, all his blood dropping away to flow into just one place, that one central and powerful place which flared, both agonous and eager.

Passion, wild and out of control, drove her. Fists grabbing hold of his pajama bottoms, she leaned back with a heave towards the mattress, pulling him over on top of her as her back plopped into the bed and she squirmed and maneuvered to tuck under him. "Make love to me William. It's your duty," she begged and then demanded before her fingers crawled into his hair and she grabbed hold tight and pulled him closer, taking his lips from below him, with such force, her teeth grazing and holding his lower lip snug. She moaned into his mouth, and wiggled and pumped her body under him, the primal vibrations seeming to push him rapidly towards the edge.

He felt her hands release his hair, leaving his scalp tingling, and then ride downwards until her fingers seized his pajama bottoms, pushing and shoving at them, lowering them while he lifted his weight off of her just enough to allow her success. Julia rolled onto her side, aiming her backside at him in the dark, and then bent at the hips, gliding her bottom up his thighs, spooning with him, placing what his instincts reached for most desperately dangerously, dangerously close… Her skin, he felt her, sumptuous, soft skin underneath him. He was so close to her… _And, oh, my God, now she is right there, right there in front of me, and there is nothing between us, absolutely nothing blocking me, and she wants me_ … His breathing fast and strong… _And, I want her… I want her now! My God, I want…_

" _Slow down William_ ," he demanded of himself. But Julia's voice begged in his head, from only a moment ago, tempting and taunting, " _Make love to me William. It's your duty."_

He chuckled, for _My God, it was so difficult to restrain it_ , his self-control dangling so precariously, just hanging on, barely – as if from a string. Somewhere in the recesses of his mind he knew he would not follow through on his urge, her request – No, _only Plan C_. He chuckled again at how much effort it was taking to pull it back…

"Some chores are so much harder than others," he finally said, out of breath with struggle through his chuckles, the sounds, the gusts, rustling in her ear from behind, and his engorged, solid, need pressed firmly into her, ever so close. But, he was in control now.

He pulled her towards him, returning her to lie on her back, then covered her, cautious to keep his weight off of their baby. His first kiss to her lips was demanding, provoking a moan from her.

She joined his chuckling, "Like taking out the trash," she snuck in between kisses.

"Somebody has to do it," he taunted, feigning complaint and suffering on his part, receiving a playful shove in response. There were more, lush, deep, passionate, wild kisses.

"Well, it had better be you, William Murdoch," she threatened, winded.

Stopping suddenly, he raised an eyebrow at her briefly in the early morning shadows, insisting, "Oh yes, Julia Ogden, it had better be," before he went back to devouring her lips.

She was going to threaten him… to tell him she would do the, " _ **chore,"**_ herself if need be… But… the thought dropped away from her so quickly, swirling away in her lustful dizziness.

"Oh my God, William," she said between another kiss. "I so want you… Oh my God, William I want you," breathlessly she uttered, between another kiss, "But my God, I want you **all the time**. And I want you so much I can't stand it. Please William."

Oh, he had her right where he wanted her, and he was enjoying every minute of her ferocious craving. "The lads will tease me mercilessly, you know, for being late," he explained between the barrage of kisses, "I will end up blushing in front of them again."

Her bosom heaving delightfully as she tried to catch her breath, "So, who's predicting the future now, detective?" she bantered, and then threw her head back into the pillow with the effort needed to withstand the pleasure as his hands captured her bosom, molding with his fingers, and forcing the handfuls of jiggly, marshmallowy, flesh together, forming two perfect cream orbs, separated by the most delicious cranny of cleavage, and then putting his succulent mouth on her, drinking her malleable flesh in so fiercely he was sure to leave a mark. "Oh my," she declared, "I believe you should blush, detective."

"Oh, milady, it only gets worse," he warned, releasing her creamy flesh, and kissing her so very enticingly down her body, lowering himself, until his kisses and nibbles teased the inside of her thighs, and she plummeted towards her very edges with voracious speed, only the bed-sheets to her hold back from his onslaught, as he flickered and fluttered, and pushed, and pounded into her, riding her shuddering waves, and basking in her cries of erupting ecstasy as their resonance filled the dimly lit room.

It was with similar thunder and lightning that she made stormy love to him soon afterwards. The power of his pleasure announced with roaring, devastating, moans, such a rare treat to come from him, making them both so very, very glad to be alive.

Later, when they went down for breakfast, Julia nearly fell off of her chair with laughter when Eloise asked William if he had taken out the trash. She wondered sometimes how he managed to control his laughter at moments like that, playing the serious role so very well, dropping his chin down and giving her a dirty look through those magnificent long, thick, black, eyelashes of his, as he hurried to do the chore. It always made her laugh even harder. My God, she loved him so much.

And… Ruby's eyes bulged so hysterically with curiosity at her outburst. Predicting the future again, Julia figured her pushy sister would get it out of her eventually – Ruby somehow managing to entice her into telling her how it could possibly be that Eloise's asking William if he had taken out the trash yet was so funny. She even suspected that William knew this would happen too. " _My God_ ," she thought, " _I hope he doesn't interrogate her when he gets home tonight – like the last time she was here_."

Before he left for work, late… they kissed good-bye in the foyer, and she reminded him that she would be coming to the stationhouse to ask Jackson if he would let her examine his meat-hook wound. He told her that in the afternoon he would be taking a few constables with him to Burns' abattoir and business near East York. After having put Constable Jackson in such danger at Davies Slaughterhouse earlier in the week, he planned on leaving him at the stationhouse this time, thus even if she arrived in the afternoon Jackson should still be there.

She asked him about having lunch together. He wrinkled his face, like he does when he doubts something. He explained that he would be interviewing Davies and Mulligan at eleven. Actually, he had insisted that his whole day was quite packed… And yes, he was getting a late start, so late in fact that he would take have to take a cab rather than ride his wheel, which he most definitely would have preferred to do. William did have the wherewithal however, to whisper into his wife's ear just before he walked out the door, "I'll have you know though, Julia, it was quite worth it," sealing his words with a surreptitious smile.

"Good," she responded, sounding to her own ear a bit like him.

))) (((

Arriving at the stationhouse door, almost an hour late, William braced himself for the lads' teasing. He pushed the door open and headed for the front desk, as cavalierly as possible, to get his messages. He heard it in the background, and saw it out of the corner of his eye, the men were quite aware of his arrival. He took a deep breath, already feeling a rush of blood up his neck and into his cheeks. Higgins called out, " _Isn't the instigator always Higgins_ ," he thought, the constable's voice seeming unduly loud, "Inspector, Detective Murdoch has finally arrived. I guess you were right sir, he didn't know."

The Inspector quickly stepped out of his office, just as William found himself wondering, and trying to decide whether to question, what it was he supposedly 'didn't know.'

"Murdoch," the Inspector called across the station, "I was concerned that you had not been notified, but…" The Inspector shared a few glances around the room, eliciting some men to repress giggles, "Well, once you weren't here on time – I mean you have always been the most punctual, upstanding man I have ever known…"

A mocking voice from a constable somewhere in the room called out, "That was until he got married to the good doctor, sir," causing the room to burst into rounds of eyes-down laughter.

The Inspector paused, pretending to consider the comment, "You have to admit, me old' mucker, you can't deny that that is true."

William's face had blushed, and he felt everyone's eyes on him, and he dropped his chin and shook his head and giggled a bit and then sheepishly said, "I don't deny it, sir," prompting the room to fill with even more giggles. He stuck his tongue in his cheek, something he had done since he was a young boy when being teased, and bravely brought his eyes up to meet the Inspector's. "What is it that I don't know, sir?" he inquired, somewhat reluctantly.

The room fell apart with hilarity in response to his question. Amongst the laughing, William noticed the Inspector's eyes dart to his office. Following them, he noted that the blinds to his office were all down – not as he had left them…

Inside the Inspector's mind, he was bubbling with glee, for the lads' plan was truly going better than he had ever expected, and it was taking every ounce of self-control he had not to fall apart himself – his composure seemingly bound by the thinnest of strings. "The lads insisted that you already knew, but I couldn't think of how you possibly would," he said.

"Know what?" William asked.

The Inspector replied, "I suppose you will see for yourself soon enough," once again looking to William's office.

William looked around the room, finding only bright red faces, all down, unwilling or unable to look at him. He walked to his office door, and with great trepidation, opened the door. A gasp escaped his lungs at the sight. Hanging from the ceiling by a bunch of strings, he saw his desk, complete with his blotter, and his statue of the blind lady of justice, and his phone, all perfectly placed on top… And his chair hanging from the ceiling right behind it, aligned perfectly, as if one could sit in it, at the desk, floating in the air. Such puzzlement filled him…

"What on earth?" he declared, almost in a whisper. There was a sign on the side of the desk. He read it and the words sunk in… "Looks like detective Murdoch got **suspended** after all." " _Suspended!_ " his mind yelled the pun at him… "Of course, I almost got suspended. Very funny," he said sarcastically.

"You should have seen your face, sir!" Constable Jenkins declared, to a hearty round of laughter and shared celebration.

Deciding it was best to let them have their fun, William waited, giving them credit for their, "joke." He couldn't help it though – it was his nature – he had a lot to do today, and now his desk was tied to the ceiling by a bunch of strings! He reached up to rub his forehead, aware of the beginnings of a headache. He didn't want to be party-pooper, but…

"It is quite impressive lads," he said, trying with all his might to be a good sport. "But, um… Well, could you please get my desk down, I have… Well, I have a lot of preparation before I have the Davies and Mulligan interviews at eleven," he asked, his mouth wrinkled in the corner, offering apology for spoiling the fun.

The Inspector bellowed, "Good job men. Now let's help the detective get to work, hey." Suddenly a sea of blue constables' uniforms swarmed into William's office. Only a few moments later, all was returned to normal.

The first thing William needed to do was find the note that Mulligan had handed to him, when he first visited Davies Slaughterhouse with Constable Hogan, accompanying the young constable in an effort to find the man he had questioned that Saturday, and that he had thought recognized the photographs of Ieva and her husband Adomas. He remembered that Mulligan had called up the stairs, to the area where the Davies offices were located, to a man up there, out of sight, to get the names and addresses of the three men working on Saturdays. Mulligan had called the man's name, told him to get the names from, 'the book,'…

" _There was a book!"_ William's mind screamed with the memory, " _a book that had all of the names and addresses of the men who worked at Davies Slaughterhouse._ " Realizing he had drifted off, he reminded himself to focus on the note. He had thought it would have the fingermarks of this unseen man. George had remembered, and he agreed with the significance of the thought, that the man whose fingermarks were on Ieva's locket and the garbage-pail lid that they had found behind the brothel where her body had been dumped, that those fingermarks did not match any of the men who they had questioned after he and Jackson had been attacked and hung up on the meat-hooks. That was what George had gone to question Mulligan about when he stole the letter-opener and he saw the rug being taken to the dump. William suspected that the unseen man was the same man who had moved Ieva's body – Mulligan's right-hand man so-to-speak. And he also suspected that this was the man that Constable Hogan had questioned on that Saturday.

"Higgins," William called loudly out to the constable in the bullpen.

Immediately, Higgins appeared at his office door, "Yes sir."

"Check George's desk for a small yellow handwritten note with three names and addresses on it, please," the detective instructed.

"Right away, sir," Henry replied.

Higgins found the note quickly and brought it to him. William would conduct the retrieving of fingermarks himself. He searched through his papers, finding the fingermarks from the locket and the garbage-pail lid for comparison. "Oh, and Henry," the detective added, "Let's see if we can get Constable Hogan in." Then he remembered that he also wanted to question the manager from the burlesque club, The Moons, where they use the same showgirl costumes as the one that Ieva's body had been dressed in, the evidence indicating the costume being placed on her sometime after she had been killed. "Oh yes, and Henry, find out if we already have the manager of The Moons burlesque club coming in for questioning. I need to see him before we go over to Burns' abattoir way out in East York," he added.

"Yes sir," the constable replied hurrying off to get to it.

William examined the note. The three names on it did not look familiar. This was one of the strings of the case he had not yet followed. They should locate these men, he advised himself as he pulled out the dusting powder and began removing the fingermarks…

Blood surging through his brain with the excitement, William exclaimed out loud, "Yes!" as he lined up one of the fingermarks lifted from the note with the fingermark from Ieva's locket, "A perfect match! This is him!" He ran it through his mind again, the man Mulligan called up to, who he and Hogan could not see, was the same man who had moved Ieva Baltavesky's body, dumping it behind the brothel. " _What was his name?"_ he prodded himself to remember, " _Mulligan called it out… The man answered – had an Irish brogue – the name started with a "K" or a "C" I think_ ," his thoughts raced.

William rushed to tell the Inspector about this new discovery. As he passed Higgins' desk, he asked Henry to try to get Constable Hogan in right away. William hoped the constable could remember the name that Mulligan had used. Almost to the Inspector's door, William had another thought. He stopped and turned and said, "Also, Henry…" but then he thought better of it. He was going to have Henry send a constable over to stationhouse #5 – he was thinking it should be Jackson because way back when Jackson had worked there, back when the Inspector stole the large man away from Stationhouse #5 thinking he was getting a ringer in their upcoming baseball game with their rival station – but maybe it would be best for him to call Detective Dermott first…" With Higgins staring up at him, William's mind chased down the two opposing paths, ask Dermott about Adomas Baltavesky's case first, or send Jackson over to see if Stationhouse #5 has any of Baltavesky's effects stored away before calling Dermott. With a sigh, he decided to send the constable. "Sorry," he apologized for the delay, "Please send Jackson over to Stationhouse #5 to try to get any personal effects they might still have from Adomas Baltavesky," William requested.

"Yes, sir," Henry replied, standing and heading upstairs to find Jackson.

" _Perhaps Jackson will have better luck if they are not pre-warned about it_ ," William counseled himself, now knocking on the Inspector's door. As he stepped in, William fought away the feeling of being overwhelmed, for there seemed to be so many strings to follow, and these interviews were now only about an hour away.

He reminded the Inspector about the evidence they had against Mulligan that they could _**not**_ use, the letter-opener from his office that was a perfect match for the weapon and had only Mulligan's fingermarks on it, making it clear to the Inspector that he knew to stay away from mentioning it in any way. William reminded him about the green rug found in the dump, the rug that both he and George had observed as being a match for the one in Mulligan's office. Fibers from this rug matched those found in Ieva Baltavesky's nasal passages and mouth. Also, the blood on the underside of the rug was human, suggesting it was the victim's. He believed they could conclusive show that this rug retrieved from the dump was the same rug as the one from Mulligan's office, based on George's testimony from the day he found it and on the location of evidence found in the pile at the dump, from both below and above the rug. This evidence consisted of burlap-roll centers with catalogue numbers matching those sold to Davies Slaughterhouse and various forms of packaging labeled as being addressed to Davies Slaughterhouse as well.

William also shared with the Inspector about the matching of the fingermarks on the victim's locket and a garbage-pail lid from the scene of where they found Ieva Baltavesky's body with those of the man who he believed had moved and dumped the Ieva Baltavesky's body after Mulligan had killed her, and that those fingermarks matched the ones on a note written by an unseen man who worked closely with Mulligan… Further, there was a book in Mulligan's office that would have this man's name in it… If they could get that book, and check the names against his and Constable Hogan's memories, he believed they could get the name of this accomplice.

After William caught the Inspector up on the evidence they would use during the interviews of Davies and Mulligan, the two of them decided that the Inspector would question Davies in his office, while William questioned Mulligan in the interrogation room.

Hogan arrived before Davies and Mulligan. William spoke with him in his office, finding the constable offered possible names that came to his mind when he strained to remember the name Mulligan had called up the stairs that day, suggesting, "Clancy… or maybe Connor."

"I also remember that the name stated with a "K" sound," William said. "Do you remember anything else?" he asked, calmly, though his heart was a bit fast in his chest. There was a lot riding on this interview.

Hogan answered quickly, "I remember that the man sounded Irish."

William nodded, "As do I," William responded, "Very good." He thanked Hogan for coming in. After the constable left, he decided to review his notes.

Disturbingly, just before William stepped into the interrogation room, his mind replayed Mulligan's threatening voice from the day the men met in Judge Peterson's office, " _If you hang around a slaughterhouse, sticking your nose where it does not belong, detective, you should not be surprised if you end up being mistaken for a_ _ **PIG**_." He exhaled sharply, working to send away the anger and the fear his body conjured up in response to the memory. William opened the door and stepped in.

Nearly half an hour later, concluding his interview, hoping to intimidate Mulligan into confessing, William laid out his theory and its supporting evidence, "Ieva Baltavesky asked for directions to your slaughterhouse, she showed up looking for her husband, who you had killed last summer because either you or Davies had found out that he had been spying on your business for Edward Burns, and when she threatened to go to the police, you stabbed her… in your office, explaining how fibers from your rug got into her nasal passages, and how her, human, blood got on your rug. You had this man, who you claim you don't remember, remove Ieva's body from your office, dress her up to look like a prostitute, and dump her behind the brothel, where he left his fingermarks on her locket and on a garbage-pail lid."

Mulligan denied it. William goaded him, "Then provide me with the book that you instructed this man…" snidely, "who you say you don't remember… to use to compile this list of names," tapping the yellow-colored list on the table.

"Gladly detective," Mulligan responded, grooming his trousers, keeping an air of calm, "I have nothing to hide. You can come along with me right now if you would like."

"And I want the date that this other man, David Bradley, who you claim bled all over your rug, which you admit is the same one we retrieved from the dump, I want the date that this man Bradley went to the hospital after cutting off a finger as you claim," William added.

"I will need the records, but that should not be a problem either, detective," Mulligan said, smugly.

After William had finished the interview and stood to leave, Mulligan said, "You know detective, it would seem to me that your evidence actually helps exonerate me…"

William paused to hear him out, raising an eyebrow.

"It seems you have your murderer detective – the man with the fingermarks matching those on this…" Mulligan waved his wrist, dismissing the item, "…locket. What's to say that this man didn't kill this… Ieva girl… And what's to say that those green fibers in her nose are not actually from a different rug than mine, a similar green rug from wherever this man killed this…" and again he waved away her importance, "whore."

William felt his jaw clench as he fought the anger. " _Because I have the weapon you used to kill her!"_ clanged in his head, " _And she was NO…" My God how the word plagued him, reminding him of Darcy's words right before he had punched the bastard in the mouth… "…whore!_ " Managing to keep control, William walked to the door. "I will have a constable escort you back to the slaughterhouse. Please give him the book with all of the employees' names, and the name and date for the man who cut his finger off and bled in your office. We will want to question him," William said. As he stepped out of the room he added cynically, "Oh, and if you should remember the name of the man who wrote this list," he said, lifting the yellow note in the air, "please let me know immediately." It took everything William had not to slam the door.

Once back in his office, grateful the blinds were still down after the lads' prank this morning, William punched his worktable - hard. Gritting his teeth together so tightly he imagined he might chip a tooth, he slammed his fist into the table again. The power of his punching would surely bruise his knuckles. Still, he had to fight the urge to land a third blow.

Trying to focus on moving forward, considering his next steps, William sat at his desk with a sigh. He would send a constable out to bring in the three men on the yellow list, who worked at Davies Slaughterhouse on Saturdays, for questioning and to get their fingerprints… Annoyed, he reminded himself that they would not likely be the man they were looking for, as none of their names began with a "C" or a "K." William picked up the yellow note, his thoughts turning to still needing to call Detective Dermott… William frowned, he was too aggravated right now to deal with anything from Stationhouse #5, not to mention the obnoxious detective, whose unwanted sexual advances aimed at Julia sent his fists instantly into a subconscious curl. He sighed again. He read the three names on the list, "Tadas Banus and Herkus Soulis and Tommy O'Connor." He wrinkled a corner of his mouth considering, " _Perhaps the name 'O'Connor' could be remembered as starting with a "K" sound?_ " He got up and walked out to Higgins, handing him the list and instructing him to have the three men brought in.

Back in his office, William decided to call Julia. As the phone rang, he remembered that she would be coming to the station today, to examine Jackson's meat-hook wound…

))) (((

Ruby sat at the kitchen table watching her sister as she prepared a picnic basket lunch for herself and her husband. Julia was reminiscing about why she was choosing to bring peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches. "Remember I told you about that first time William and I kissed – during a picnic he had prepared, complete with absinthe…" she said with a little giggle, "Well, William had prepared peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches for that dinner." " _It's amazing_ ," Julia thought, " _But I don't think either of us will ever smell or taste or even think of peanut-butter and jelly sandwiches without also thinking of that magical night."_

"Jules," Ruby started with curiosity in her voice…

Sending Julia's thoughts immediately to this morning when she had laughed so hard after Eloise had asked about William's "chore…"

"You know you have to tell me don't you," Ruby continued, "What was so funny this morning."

Her eyes rolled upwards to the sky as Julia acknowledged to herself that she would ultimately give in. She turned and found her sister's eyes. Taking a deep breath, her tone threatening a lecture, she said, "The last time I confided such things to you, you told William that I 'kissed and told,' remember?"

"Jules, you are married to Detective William Murdoch – a finer detective I'm sure does not exist. Surely, the man already knew that you were guilty of 'kissing and telling' long before he got home that night at the Windsor House Hotel," Ruby defended and flattered in the same breath. Adding, "As I'm sure he already knows you will do again – about this very thing," before she waited, holding fast to her sister's eyes.

"Oh very well," Julia said, exasperated, and yet struggling to hide her smile. Diverting her eyes back to packing the picnic basket, she told her, "As I'm sure you already know, William and I made love this morning…" Her mind snapped with the memory, of not only how loudly she had declared her passion, but that William had done so this morning as well – something he only rarely did. " _My God, did she overhear us?"_ she panicked with the thought, " _Did she overhear_ _ **him**_ _?!_ " Suddenly, she and Ruby had locked gazes! She could see it on her sister's face! She had! Instantly Julia blushed.

Her lips curled into a coy smile as Ruby said, both trying to reassure and to bask in her sister's embarrassment at the same time, "Oh, come now Jules, it's not like I haven't heard you two in the throes of passion before." She tilted her head with puzzlement and quickly said, "Although it may have been the first time I have heard William so…"

"Ruby!" Julia hollered, unable to tolerate her sister speaking of, even thinking of, William in such a state.

Knowing if she didn't back off now, she would never get the story, Ruby diverted, "I don't see how this is related to what Eloise said – about William taking out the trash."

Julia felt her temperature cooling, somehow out from underneath the intensity of the magnifying glass – though of course she wasn't, but maybe at least, William was, for now. She sighed and went back to working on the basket. "It was because of a conversation we had had while…" Julia tried to start again, realizing she would be revealing more than she had intended, finding herself struggling with marveling at her sister's skills and wanting to kill her at the exact same time. "Oh my God, Ruby, this is so personal!" Julia exclaimed, "I don't think I can tell you." Julia's heart began to pound, for she instantly knew uttering such a thing was a mistake, one that would only cause Ruby to become even more relentless. Julia closed the basket, finished with it, and braced her hands down on the countertop.

"Jules," Ruby said, her voice remarkably sincere, "You know how happy I am for you and William. You know that the fact that the two of you have such a magnificent sex-life – and clearly that you can even have so much fun with it too – you know how truly happy that makes me for you. Who else will you ever be able to tell such wonderful things to?"

Deep down in her inner-sister soul, she knew Ruby was right. She sighed and joined Ruby at the table. "It was because we were teasing each other about how William making love to me… You know we can't make love the traditional way right now – not with me so pregnant and, well uh, Isaac told us not to – so anyway, William said something about how some ' _ **chores'**_ were so much harder than others…" Julia smiled at Ruby and added, "I think he found the hard part was mostly about keeping control over his wish to make love the way we used to – the way we can't." Ruby nodded, she got it.

"Well I teased him that it was like taking out the trash," she said.

"Really!" Ruby squealed, "And then Eloise teased him only a few minutes later about forgetting to take out the trash! That's unbelievable," Ruby declared, both sisters laughing in amazement at the coincidence of it all.

The phone rang. Eloise was out until later when she would return to make dinner, so Julia hurried to get to it. It was William. " _Speak of the devil_ ," Ruby thought. Julia held her hand over the receiver and waited for Ruby to give them some privacy, which she did, heading up the stairs to her room. She would go out for lunch, " _George is free now that he's been suspended… And maybe Emily_ …" she considered.

William told Julia about his frustrations with the case, particularly with his not being able to bring justice to a man who he knew was guilty.

"William, you will get him eventually. I'm certain of it," she encouraged. She was so grateful for his profound trust in her, sensing that hearing those words from her had managed to ease his burden. She brought up offering money to George to help him make it through the month without pay. She pictured her husband sitting at his desk, rubbing his brow as the phone remained silent.

"I don't think he would take it, Julia," William finally responded. He didn't say how uncomfortable he would feel being seen as wealthy enough to offer such a thing, but Julia heard his sigh.

"Do you think he might… if the offer came from _me_ rather than from _you_?" she asked. Her proposal did ease some of the burden – after all, she had always been a wealthy woman in George's eyes, whereas he _had been_ akin to George in status and financial stature.

"Perhaps," William's voice, still reluctant, uttered into the phone.

Julia smiled, admiring her husband for his struggles with always trying to do what was right and with being self-aware. "Well, let's consider it, hmm… We'll talk about it again later?" she asked.

William sat at his desk as she had imagined, now his hand, thumb under his chin, covering his mouth, thinking. He nodded, and then replied, "Good," trying to sound more cheerful than he actually was.

"I have packed up a lunch for us," she changed the subject.

"Um, yes but…"

"But you think you will have left for Burns' place before I arrive?" she said, trying to hide her disappointment.

"Mm," he replied.

"Well then, look for a delicious treat on your desk when you get back," she said.

William chuckled into the phone, remembering the sight of his desk floating – suspended in the air – this morning…

"What is it?' she wondered. His heart smiled, for he could hear the smile on her face.

Describing the sight, William told her about the lads' prank, and teased, "It would have been quite a challenge for you to get your lunch gift up that high, especially now that you are so…"

"So what, husband? You do know it is _your fault_ that I am in this state, do you not?" she badgered gleefully.

William was beaming with joy and some strange sense of pride that he always felt in knowing that the world could see that they had made love, that the whole world could see that _**he**_ had made love to such a magnificent woman as Dr. Julia Ogden. "Glad to take responsibility for it milady," he said.

He heard her sigh into the phone. "I will miss you," she said.

"And I you," he answered.

Not long after William had hung up the phone, Constable Jackson returned from Stationhouse #5. Triumphantly, he knocked on the detective's door. By the time he presented William with the spoils of his trip, Higgins and the Inspector looked on.

"One of my old buddies was on duty," Jackson explained. "He took me down into their evidence room… Found all this for me… Even let me take it all," he said with a proud grin, "he said none of these things ever made it into the man's file anyway, so no one would ever miss them." One by one Jackson placed the items collected from Adomas Baltavesky's body on the detective's desk, first his immigration papers from Lithuania, then some photographs, one of Ieva and one of the man's young son Matis, then he put down the man's wedding ring and a keychain with nine or ten different keys on it.

William nearly gasped aloud – it was the same St. Valentine keychain that Ieva had had. Something bumped as it settled deep inside of him. _Adomas and Ieva had been soul-mates! They really had been… like himself and Julia._ They had been profoundly in love, and these realizations, once again, made his heart ache.

Jackson read the pain on William's face and, looking confused asked, "I thought you would be happy detective?"

William's eyes met the man's… his memories flinging around in his head. This man was the one hanging behind him, strung up on a meat-hook too, bound and restricted in the cold and the dark, facing death. This man had heard him sobbing. Perhaps he would understand? Jackson was married – had a family…

It was the Inspector who broke the silence, seemed to put the oxygen back in the room. "I'm sure he is Jackson. Knowing Detective Murdoch here, you just provided the keys to the case."

"Yes! Yes Jackson," William at last managed to speak, "This is wonderful. Well done Jackson, well done," his words returning a proud smile to the man's face.

Deciding he would have to work on the clues garnered from Adomas' belongings later, William prepared to head out to Burns' abattoir, wanting to be there when the majority of the workers were still on the job. Constable Worsley returned from having accompanied Mulligan back to Davies Slaughterhouse after his interview. He had the two pieces of evidence Mulligan had said he would provide, a hospital bill from November 23rd, from when David Bradley had been stitched up, having cut off his finger, unfortunately giving strength to Mulligan's claim that there was an alternative explanation for the human blood found on the green rug from his office, and _the book_ with Davies Slaughterhouse employee names and addresses.

William rushed to look for the section with names starting with "C" and read through the names. None rang a bell for him as matching the name Mulligan had called up the stairs that day. " _Perhaps Constable Hogan will recognize one of them,_ " William considered. He turned to find the "K"s. "Hanlahan," was the last entry on one page… and "Lundy" was the first entry on the next page. " _No "I"s, "J"s, or "K"s?"_ William wondered, quickly checking the seam of the book to see if any pages had been ripped out. "A page is missing," he declared aloud, "The "K"s have been ripped out!"

Despite Constable Worsley standing right next to him, William uncharacteristically punched his desk, causing the constable to jump back with surprise.

"Constable, did you _see_ Mulligan retrieve this book yourself?" he asked with urgency.

Worsley stuttered with the pressure, "Uh… uh, n… n… no sir. He went into his office while I waited downstairs… Sorry sir."

Constable Worsley's obvious distress stirring compassion in him, William calmed himself down. "It's alright constable. I should have been more clear in my instructions to you," he said. Dropping his eyes back to the book, William made a plan to use a pencil to try to raise the impressions that might have been left on the next page in the book back when the names had first been recorded. He sighed loudly, telling himself that the man they were looking for would probably have been working for Davies and Mulligan for a long time, and thus his name would have been recorded in the book a very long time ago, rendering the chance of finding such impressions unlikely. Another string he would have to chase down later…

))) (((

Burns' establishment was very impressive. It was much bigger than Davies Slaughterhouse, and although both businesses were directly on train lines, Burns' place seemed melded with the train line. Perhaps this was because one of the major reasons for Burns' success was that he was awarded the contract to feed the men working on building the train line from Quebec down the eastern seaboard of the USA. Further, Burns' business, which centered on cattle much more so than hogs, was firmly established all across Canada. Still, the stench, the inherent sickening brutality of the meat industry, battered the senses.

William had sent the two constables to different buildings with a picture of Adomas Baltavesky to search for anyone who recognized him. He went directly to the management with his questions, finding no one who claimed to know Baltavesky. Stepping back out into the sunlight, William heard a train breaking, the sound coming from one of the buildings. " _Perhaps_ ," he thought, " _Baltavesky's body was found on a train._ "

It was quite a long walk to the last building on the complex, where he believed the train had arrived. When he finally entered the building, he noticed it was even colder than the December air outside – it was a refrigerated building, but it was huge. Men were in the process of loading humungous sides of frozen beef onto the train, into refrigerated train cars. Each of these men was strapping and healthy, much like it seemed Adomas Baltavesky had been. William approached two of the men who seemed to be taking a break and showed them Baltavesky's picture. They said they did not recognize the man. After he had questioned each of the men to no avail, he headed out.

Once outside, he heard a man whistle from behind the outhouse. Although the hair went up on the back of his neck, William fought the fear and talked himself into going to the secluded spot, hoping the man there would provide an important clue. It was one of the men he had questioned inside. He spoke with an accent, William recognized as Lithuanian, refusing to give his name, and making it clear he wanted no one to ever know he had spoken with a detective.

"I knew Adomas," he said, "Not from here – from Winnipeg. We worked together loading frozen meat onto reefers, refrigerated train cars, at Burns' place there."

William noticed he had said he "knew," Adomas, causing him to suspect this man also knew Adomas was dead. "Have you ever seen him here in Toronto?" he asked.

Fear flickered across the man's eyes. He hesitated, then answered, "Yes, but not alive…" He gave William an intense, frightened glance. He went on, "He was… on a train… dead. Here, last summer."

"Here?" William clarified, certain the death report said that the body was found on a train at the Wychwood Park station quite far to the west of here.

"Yes. I was working that morning, loading meat. One of the men noticed a body between the cars. It was Adomas… Adomas Baltavesky. He was also from Lithuania, like me. I recognized him from when we worked together," he replied.

Excitement surged through William's veins. Trying to stifle the sound of intrigue in his voice, he said, "Go on."

The man took a deep breath, working to calm himself. Whispering and hunched over in secrecy he continued, "Adomas was dressed like a hobo. But… well, er… I thought that was odd. You see, last I saw him in Winnipeg, he had started working on the trains – as an icer."

William raised an eyebrow, "An icer. What's an icer?"

"Reefers need to have ice to stay cold enough. Men ride the train and when it gets to an icing station, they load up the ice in the compartment in the roof," he explained.

"I see," William said, "So, if you ever found Adomas on a reefer, you would have figured it would have been as a worker, not as a hobo," his conjecture receiving nods of agreement from the man. _William started putting the pieces together in his mind – Adomas worked for Burns' on the reefers, got an opportunity to get a job at Davies and took it to spy on them for Burns. Davies and Mulligan found out he was spying and had him killed, then covered up the murder by dressing his body up in hobo clothing and dumping it on a train headed right back to Burns' place – sending a message as it were. But, then why did Stationhouse #5 write up the report as being at Wychwood Park?"_

"Did the police come that morning?" William asked.

"Oh yeah," the man answered. "They were here all day, it seemed."

"Can you describe the man in charge?" William asked, wondering if it was Detective Dermott or Inspector Sanford from Stationhouse #5.

"Their leader was… an unusual man. He smoked these god-awful cigars… and wore a very fancy long-tailed suit," the man replied.

" _Meyers!_ " William's head yelled, " _Of course. Of course he would have been tied up in all of this. The coroner had said he was at the morgue too. Of course."_ Then William remembered the rare stab wound the coroner had described under the body's right armpit. " _No wonder this case is such a mess_ ," he told himself, " _It's all tied up with these spies and their crazy spy-games."_

William sighed, now aware of the myriad complications he had to deal with. If Meyers weren't dead, he would have expected to run into the man at the very next turn… "Is there anything else you can remember?" he asked.

The man nodded, and then looked seriously into William's eyes and said, "I knew Adomas. He loved his wife, and they had a boy he loved so much too. Detective, he would not have let himself fall so low as to become a drunkard hobo. He never would have abandoned them like that… Adomas was a good man. He deserved better."

William curled up a corner of his mouth and added, "We all do. Thank you for your help." He waited behind the outhouse while the man snuck back around the other side of the big, meat-packing refrigerated building, before he walked out and found the constables.

))) (((

Knowing she would not be able to meet up with William for lunch, Julia didn't rush to get out of the house. She went to say good-bye to Ruby, up in her room. Ruby told her she had made plans to see Emily, and she hoped George would be joining them. She let Julia know that she might even be out for dinner. The conversation moved to Julia's concerns about William.

"William tries so hard Ruby. To be honest, I think it's one of the reasons I love him so much," Julia said.

Ruby sat down on the bed next to her sister. "You know Jules, I actually researched quite a bit into these meat-packing companies… for my story last summer… at least the ones in the United States. Remember, the story about the people who died from eating spoiled meat?" she asked, receiving a nod from Julia. "And they are really, really nasty," Ruby said.

Julia's face paled a bit. "I was getting that impression, to tell you the truth. I mean Ruby, they knocked William out, drugged him with chloroform, bound him, naked, and wrapped him up in a burlap sheet and hung him from a meat-hook destined to be sliced in half by a huge rotary saw," she declared, her eyes wide with the horror of it. She realized then, that she hadn't felt comfortable telling Ruby how truly terrifying an experience he had been through, now only five days ago. She could see it on Ruby's face, her compassion for William – for her.

Ruby took Julia's hand and said, "I'm so sorry Jules. That's awful."

After it was quiet for a time, each of them drifting through their own thoughts, Ruby asked, "Does William know about our cousin…" Julia's eyes shot up to meet hers. She knew from the look that she had not told him… And that she didn't want him to know.

Julia looked away. Somehow, the tone had changed, now so serious, almost grave, and floating between them was such an odd air of collusion and guilt…

Her gaze and her voice distant, Julia said, "William is still… quite uncomfortable with, um, with being a member of, uh, our class. It would be so much worse if he had to walk around in the world seeing himself as related to such a…" Julia shook her head, trying to push it away, wishing with all her might that it weren't true, that she could deny it.

Next to her, Ruby's heart raced with the memories of the pressures of writing that story last summer, memories of her anger, and her shame, not to mention fear, for she was painting very powerful men in a very unflattering light, and one of them was a man she was personally related to, one who she had played with as a child. She decided to push the whole thing aside, saying, "Well, William's investigation isn't into _**American**_ meat companies anyway. There's no reason to think it's something you will have to worry about. There's a good chance he will never come to know the significance of Jonathan Ogden Armour." She stood up, offering her pregnant sister a hand, "Come on, you have a picnic lunch to deliver."

"And research to conduct. Did I tell you I am using the constable that was abducted with William as a control for the study on the effects of the _Penicillin glaucum_ mold on stitched wounds?" she asked as they headed downstairs together.

" _Amazing_ ," Ruby thought to herself, " _She's brighter and more boring, all in the same moment._ " Giving in to the urge to roll her eyes, she begged, "Jules, can you spare me the same old "pencil- thing" talk."

Her sister giggled, and took her arm with a squeeze. "You see Ruby," she said gleefully, "That's another reason I love William so much – he gets excited when I talk about my work."

"You're right," she agreed, "Yours is a match made in heaven, it has to be, because for anyone else but William, listening to such detailed…" she shook her head, "gibberish would surely be nothing more than…" Ruby paused, stopping them on that very step and smiled, "a _**chore**_ ," with a laugh, bracing for Julia's playful fury.

…Which she quickly received, in the form of a soft shove. As they started down the stairs once more, Julia triumphed though, saying, "Now then, what was it that won me William right out from underneath you all those years ago, at that low-handed dinner you invited him to – when you tried to seduce him. What was it you had said? Oh yes, that he was a fine specimen and you wanted to probe his intriguing mind… And yet, he didn't seem to have the slightest bit of interest in whatever it was you had to say, did he? Certainly not once I brought up… What was it…?"

"Poisons," Ruby scorned, "You and the man went on and on for nearly an hour – through the entire meal – about poisons of all things." Shaking her head, still marveling at the amazing nerdiness and boringness of it all she added, "It's true, you two really are perfect for each other."

))) (((

On the long carriage ride back to the station, the sun dropping low in the sky, William sat with the two constables, considered what it would feel like to have another detective go over _his_ files from a case where Meyers had been involved. " _So often, Meyers forces an unjust outcome,_ " he thought. The list of guilty culprits that had avoided the scales of justice because of the man was long. First, there were the men responsible for the airship that was deceptively portrayed to the public as a spaceship complete with three-toed aliens (with this memory, he smiled, for it was intricately linked with remembering seeing Julia for the first time with her beautiful, wavy, shiny, hair cascading down over her shoulders and teasing and dangling, golden and enticing, around her beautiful face – " _My God,_ he remembered, " _I was so close to kissing her then, when we sat together on the bench in the pagoda…_ " And then there was the microwave death ray, the true felon in that case being Sally Pendrick, or should he say Sally Hubbard (and with this memory, his heart ached… for it was looped and strung together with Julia's leaving him for Buffalo…

How did you stomach it, detective?" Constable Jenkins asked William.

Momentarily confused, his brain thinking to answer the question based on what he had been thinking, about how he had coped after Julia had left him, his big, brown eyes wide, trying to soak in the clues to the situation at hand, he found an awareness of the background conversation the two men had been having. "How did I stomach the horrible smells and all the blood and death at Burns' meatpacking complex?" he asked, trying to ground himself in the here and now.

"Well, yes sir, um today too, but what I really meant was, uh, how did you stomach it at the slaughterhouse…uh, that night? um… You know…?"

William frowned, "Not that well, constable," he answered.

The two constables returned to their discussion of the disgust they felt as they had encountered each of the various atrocities and carnages of the detailed workings of meat producing places. William worked to remember what he had been thinking about… " _Oh yeah, Meyers_." Upon reflection, he decided to leave Detective Dermott out of this investigation.

Half expecting to see Mr. Meyers in the Inspector's office when he walked in, William collected his messages and headed into the bullpen reminding himself that Meyers had died, probably soon after this case involving Adomas Baltavesky's body on a freight train – at Burns' meatpacking establishment, sometime after having it staged to appear to have been an accident discovered at Wychwood Park on a passenger train. Higgins and Jackson were in the Inspector's office, so he joined them. The conversation at first centered on how remarkably pregnant his wife was, reminding him that Julia had come in to examine Jackson. He felt again, that odd pride at having been the one to impregnate her. It was undeniable as it filled his chest.

Getting back to the case, the Inspector told him that Higgins had questioned the manager from the Moon's Burlesque Club. Then Higgins informed him that a woman named Dora Hart – Higgins and Jackson shared a look, and then shared that they both speculated that that probably wasn't the woman's real name. "Well," Higgins continued, "Miss Hart had told the manager that she believed that her boyfriend had taken her outfit, the one with the white feathers."

William remembered the showgirl costume clearly, and replayed in his mind the look of it on Ieva's dead body, animal blood poured over it, and a stab wound that didn't line up with the actual wound on her body, all done in an effort to make it appear that a prostitute had been killed right there behind the brothel… "Yes, constable, I remember it," he replied.

"The manager said she was preforming tonight at the club. She starts at nine o'clock, sir," Higgins added.

Constable Jackson offered to go question her tonight, explaining that he was on duty tonight as well.

William quickly decided that it was really the only lead left on the case, and he had best question the woman himself. The realization caused him to sigh, disappointed, for it meant he would get home late. "No, no thank you Jackson. I think I'll go," he explained.

The Inspector used the moment as an opportunity to irritate him, joking, with a light punch in the shoulder, obviously forgetting William's injury, and forcing William to man-up and act like it didn't hurt, "Like to get a little extra-marital looksee, hey me' old mucker."

William's face blended a mix of disdain and embarrassment as he replied, "Oh yes. Very good, sir."

As they left the Inspector's office, William asked Higgins if he would mind making some tea.

In his office, about to sit at his, fortunately, now solidly on-the-ground desk, he found, on his desk, propped up between a peanut-butter and jelly sandwich and a chocolate chip cookie, there was an envelope. Written on it, in Julia's handwriting was his name, simply "William." Although happiness pumped through him with the sight of it, a deep sense of despair lingered in his breaths. He remembered why, taking his seat, lifting the envelope in the air before his eyes… It was reminiscent, of another, sadder time, when she had left him a note, so extremely and magnificently and devastatingly revealing, telling him that she had learned he had intended to ask her to marry him, and that she would choose him over Darcy, in what seemed to be a heartbeat, if he would only let her know that he still loved her, before she said her vows… And he could not… And so he lost her to save his own soul, for he needed to free Constance Gardner, or he would lose himself. William sighed, long and deep, and noticed, that there was a knot in his throat, and an inkling of tears in his eyes, and he told himself it was alright, that she was his and he was hers, as it had always been meant to be. He opened the envelope and unfolded the note.

Sometimes, this profoundly wonderful feeling flows inside of me, like it is now, as I sit here at your desk, missing you, thinking of you, and the love seems to surge so powerfully, so enormously, creating a white, luminous, glowing heat that floods out of my very center, showering every cell, every atom with such a delicious warmth, all stimulated by thoughts of – you, William – of you, the one and only, absolutely perfect man, for me, Detective William Henry Murdoch. Each piece of your name resonates at the perfect pitch vibrating my inner ear, giving spark to my very soul… My God, I love you so. And I know you feel the same for me. And how I wish you were right here with me now, for I know you would feel it. It would seep into you, under your skin, down through your flesh, into your very bones, igniting you into a blaze, bound to me, burning with me. Such heaven only lovers like us know. Sometimes, so perfectly aligned it makes time stand still and infinity seems to be obtained, for a second, for a lifetime, for all of time.

My fingers have found Adomas' wedding ring, here on your desk, and I can't help but think of yours, wherever you are right now, my ring is on your finger, as yours is on mine. So rare, for a man to be willing to, to want to, wear one. Yet, you do – he did. I see why you are struggling with over-identifying with the victims in this case, William. Their love seems to have been similar in kind to ours, making its loss, the suffering of the one without the other, so much more striking, breathtakingly agonous and devastating. For them, it was Ieva trying to go on without Adomas, as I would have to try to go on without you. It seems she could not bear it, searching for him until the end. Yet, she had to know, don't you think, that she was alone?

Our baby just rolled over inside of me William. I think he, or maybe it is she, turned to try to get away from feeling the pain. Is it crazy to think that when I feel such sadness, or even such joy, that somehow the emotion flows through my veins, in my blood, and it fills our baby as well? If that is true, this baby already knows astounding love, William.

Please William, eat your lunch, let me care for you in this small way, today, now. Let the memories of the first time we shared such a delicacy flow through you, making you awash with the feeling of love, so pleasurable, so reassuring, so invigorating, even if it is for just one short moment in your day, think of me, and know I love you, with all of my heart, all of my body, all of my soul, for all of our days. Until tonight, please take care.

PS: And Jackson's wound is not doing well at all. I instructed him to go to the doctor, or back to the hospital. I am embarrassed by the part of me that responded to the sight of his, swollen, red, lesion with delight, and yet, the researcher in me was excited by the discovery, as I collected this data from what must serve as the control specimen for my experiment, for the findings will surely support my hypothesis, that topical, oral, and intramuscular applications of Penicillin glaucum mold decreases the occurrence of infection and increases healing rates. On this note, I'm sorry to have to remind you that there were some strings attached to our arrangement… And you husband, must submit to my taking of precise measurements of your wound this evening. I promise that afterwards I will kiss it and make it better… A lot better.

J

The smile on William's face was not big, yet it was deep, reflective and warm. He did feel it, the white, luminous, glowing warmth of which she spoke. He tucked the note back into its envelope, and then into his inside pocket. "Mmm, peanut-butter and jelly," he thought as he unwrapped the sandwich, and the smell hit his nostrils and tingled his senses, and it did remind him of their picnic, with absinthe, and green ferries, and her fingers in his hair, and him on top of her…

Higgins knocked on the open doorframe to his office. "Your tea, sir," he said.

))) (((

The carriage pulled up to the Moon's Burlesque Club in the cold dark of a December night. The ground cold enough to crunch under his feet as he stepped away and the horse pulled off, William noticed that the music was loud and raunchy, but the yellowish-glow of the light looked inviting and warm. He stood at the doorway, door handle only inches away, and steeled his resolve before he walked in. " _Stay focused on the case, William,_ " he advised himself, " _Make sure your eyes hunt for clues, not naked bodies… We need a name, of the man who moved Ieva's body. Find the woman whose boyfriend stole her white-feathered showgirl costume, notice William, if she is Ieva's size."_ He pulled the handle, feeling the warmth blow across his face, the brightness squint his eyes. He stepped in.

Rounding the corner, his coat over his arm, drawn by the noise, the music, the men hooting and hollering, William scanned the area, and his eyes caught on the stage. Oh, they were women alright, beautiful, their bosoms, jiggling and creamy. So immediately he felt it, the tug in his trousers. He jolted his eyes away, _anywhere but there_ – to the bar. " _There's an empty stool_ ," he thought with relief. He placed his folded-up jacket on the bar after inspecting it and determining it was dry, and sat on the stool. He caught the bartender's eye. He would ask the bartender, about Dora Hart.

He spotted her, the heat rising, out of the corner of his eye. Somehow he knew that he was her target. William swallowed, reminded himself to breathe, thought to pray that the bartender would approach. Later he would wonder, why he didn't think to ask her about Miss Hart, so intimidated, all his energy fighting the helplessness.

His eyes betrayed him, as she turned away, her back to him now, seducing him into feeling safer. But then she bent forward, lying over the table in front of her, displaying herself to him. All air gone from the room, only a dizzying spin when he saw it, " _My God, she has no knickers_ ," and he felt the pull of the vacuum, for her buttocks were so round, and in between the supple orbs, it was so… delicious. The urgency surged in his groin… and pouring in with it, the sinking, dreadful feeling of regret as he saw the memory of it flash again before him, Julia collapsed into sobs, so powerful, so earthshatteringly devastating that she sat on their bathroom floor, after having vomited into the toilet, and she still cried, and he had to stop her, for it was intolerable to know he had hurt her so, and her cramping threatened the health of their child, growing inside of her.

" _Don't you dare look!"_ he warned himself, although it was too late. And yet he managed it, to turn away. He took a deep breath, exhaled the essential air back out through his pursed lips, praying for it to lower the pressure, and threw his hand up in the air, waving the bartender over.

She approached him more directly. A quick glance and he saw that she was pretty, a brunette.

"What can I get you?" the older man behind the bar asked.

William tried to focus on the man's eyes, but they too were tempted, pulled to the woman's flesh, gazed elsewhere than at him, upon the scantily-clothed woman. William's effort at attaching to him, flailing, he swallowed again, and said, "A birch beer." William's strange request helped though, for the bartender's eyes shifted, focused on William, trying to determine whether or not he was joking, prompting him to add, "Or water, please."

The brunette placed her hand on William's knee, and pulled, causing him to slide and rotate on the stool, until he faced her directly, his face perfectly aligned with the woman's chest. Then she lifted a thigh, and slipped into his lap. His mind twirled and sputtered as he fought against the memory of what he had seen that now covered him, only his garments between them. Her hands were all over him, his stomach, his chest. "You're a handsome one," she whispered in his ear.

" _Tell her to get off_ ," his own voice screamed, so feint, so far away.

He felt her fingers, pinch at his skin through his clothing. "What exquisite eyes, melty and chocolaty… yum yum," she said. The smell of her perfume wafted around them, sickly and stifling. Then she found his badge. Briefly, she reacted, hesitating. Quickly recovered, she leaned in closer, her breasts against him, just below his mouth, so soft. "You constabulary? You can interrogate me anytime? Her lips kissed his neck.

" _Constabulary… yes. Yes, I am Detective William Murdoch… of the Toronto Constabulary_ ," his mind reminded him how to say it. " _Say it out loud. Out loud!"_ he ordered,

Her hand pressed down his stomach, lower, lower…

William grabbed her by the wrist – stopped her. His brown eyes glaring now with alarm, and annoyance, "Get off of me, please," he said.

"Sure copper," she said, appeasing. She backed off, dismounted, and then turned to go.

William cleared his throat. He reached out for her wrist once more. "Sorry," he said.

She smiled and nodded.

"I'm looking for a woman, Dora Hart," he said.

The brunette's eyes darted to the stage, then settled back on him. "That's her. The blond," she answered.

"Thank you," he replied. She moved on to the next customer. William looked back to the stage. Currently Miss Hart was wiggling her naked buttocks at the rowdy men in the audience. William gratefully noticed the birch beer on the bar. He found some coins, using it as a distraction from being drawn in to the temptation of looking at the women performing on the stage.

Not much later, William stepped back out into the cold. " _Aiden Kempsey,_ " he trumpeted his success in his head. Finally, he had a name for the elusive man, Aiden Kempsey… and an address. He was almost certain Mulligan had called out the name Kempsey that day. He was getting close! The address wasn't far from the burlesque club. He would walk. William pulled his maroon scarf higher, tucking his chin down into its plushy warmth. He would go quickly, the exercise warming him.

The small building was dark, William noticed standing on the sidewalk across the street, not a light in any window. " _Probably isn't home... maybe though, it's late. If he is the man Hogan questioned, then he works on Saturdays_ ," William thought as he battled with himself about whether or not to continue, alone. He reminded himself that Julia's Baby Shower was tomorrow, and he had planned on working anyway, to leave the house to the women for their shower. He would come back tomorrow – bring some constables with him.

))) (((

It was nearly eleven when William crawled into bed next to her. The bed felt magnificent under his tired body, prompting him to moan softly with the relief. Julia stirred, and he admitted to himself in the dark that he was glad. Every cell in his body wished for her.

She was so warm as she snuggled close to him, her cushy soft body sliding across his and pushing in, her moan harmonious with his, chasing mystically after it, in the darkness. He heard her breath in his ear, took her in his arms. His mind found the memory of reading her note…

Julia suddenly sniffed, noticing his odor wasn't right, it was unpleasant… smoky, with a similar stink to the one he had had on his clothes from slaughterhouse after that disturbing night. She focused, taking in the scent of his hair. "What's that smell, William?" she asked.

He reminded her that he had gone to Burns' meatpacking plant, and then he had to question someone, "Um, just now… at a burlesque club."

Her mind played the scene… an uneasiness engulfing her slowly from all sides. And then the particular scent dropped into her recognition. " _Perfume!_ " her brain screamed, " _Some showgirl's perfume on his neck and chest!_ "

Julia sat up, bolting into alert. "That explains the smoke, William, not perfume," her voice searing him, for she sounded angry, suspicious.

William's heart raced, panic set in. With all his might, he tried to sound calm, "One of the women sat on my lap… and kissed… um, parts of me… before I made her get off," he offered to explain.

Julia's voice was sharp, threatening a sting, "And this woman, William, she was nearly naked, young, and you found her to be attractive… And she was just one of many. Pretty, sexy women, all around you," she seemed to ask, but fear told him it was best not to answer. "Well?" she pushed.

He wanted to speak without clearing his throat first, knowing doing so would only add to his demise, so he swallowed. Still his voice cracked as he responded, "Somewhat," he chose, holding steadfast to the truth, the one thing that served as his compass in the world, besides her.

He felt her shove at him. "Well go take a shower and wash their stink off of you… it's disgusting. And while you're in there you can take care of whatever… arousal, you got from them too," she ordered.

He couldn't really believe she said it, his mouth dropped, silently, unseen in the darkness of their bedroom. "Julia!" he pleaded, begging for her to see reason. She rolled over, seeming to pound and slam each of her limbs on the bed, and faced away from him, and his mind began to race… " _Am I going to be sleeping on the couch for this? Really?_ " he thought as he sighed and got out of their bed.

In the bathroom, the door closed, he removed his pajamas, distracted and hurt, heaping them in a scattered pile on the floor. Suddenly, the door jerked open. He turned to see Julia standing there, worry in her eyes.

"I'm sorry William. I'm sorry. Please understand. Ever since I've been pregnant my sense of smell has been, outstanding… and I, um…" Julia looked away, her rush slowing, "I have been so insecure. I know you know this," she said, returning her stunning blue eyes to his.

He stepped closer to her… his body language so familiar to him, reminiscent of when he had worked on the ranch and he approached a scittish horse that had spooked, knowing both of their hearts raced, knowing she didn't want to run, didn't want to fight, but… He held her eyes, seemed to duck, staying low, unthreatening, slow movements, " _Shh_ ," his own voice quieted his being, inside his head…

Her voice squeaky, like it gets when she's upset, she went on, "And I just… I truly know you wouldn't go into a burlesque club at all, if you weren't working on a case. And you wouldn't want a sexy woman to sit on your lap… Well at least conscio…"

Gently, tenderly, he scooped her into his arms and tucked his mouth down into her neck, nestled under her golden curls – he had her, she was safe, she was his, she loved him, he breathed her in and then said, "Unless that woman is you Julia. Not unless she's you." His smile was warm, and it brought tears to her eyes. And he kissed her. And he reassured her that everything was alright. And he stepped back, and then turned on the water, for he did need to wash off the pungent and sickening and unfamiliar smells. He stepped into the shower, soon letting go of a moan with the pleasure of the wet, warmth falling over him.

Feeling much better, Julia stayed to talk with him as the air filled with the steam of the shower.

His soothing tenor tones reverberated off the bathroom walls as he told her how much he loved her note.

"I was touched William, by the personal things that belonged to Ieva's husband, on your desk," she said.

He remembered the beauty of her describing the permanence of their wedding rings.

She moved on, "He had the same keychain as her, the St. Valentine one, that you told me protected soul-mates."

"Mmm," his lovely voice replied.

"You know, William, his keys could be the _**key**_ to the whole case," she said, giggling at her own joke.

William pulled the shower curtain aside a tad, peeking out from shower. Her joke seemed impervious – his mind, as usual, on the case, "How?" he asked, then dropping the curtain back and returning to the task as he listened.

"Well, because I was thinking about keys, like yours and mine, and well, mostly none of them look the same. I mean some are small, and some are big, and they are different colors, and when you look closely they were made in different places, and…"

William peeked out again, "And Adomas' keys weren't like that?"

Julia pushed away from her temporary perch, her buttocks lifting away from the sink countertop, "No," she said approaching, "there were five of them that looked basically the same – not for the exact same lock, but, just everything else the same about them except that the specific tooth pattern was different… Like he used them all at the same place. Perhaps he was a janitor?"

"Or a night watchman at a slaughterhouse!" his voice charged from behind the shower curtain. He peeked out again, "Julia, you are amazing! I knew there was a reason I married you!" William exclaimed, his face beaming with excitement, "Get in here Mrs. Murdoch."

They hadn't showered together since Isaac had told them there should be no more lovemaking, at least, not in the traditional sense. But, she obliged. Her nightgown joined his on the bathroom floor, while they indulged in sumptuous, soapy, slippery lovemaking, of the Plan C variety.

Later, their pajamas still remained on the cold, damp tiled floor, as the Murdoch's fell asleep entwined together, clean, and fresh, and bare-skinned. There were still so many unraveled strings to deal with, but they had retied the most important ones, their heart strings.


	10. Chapter 10: Hot Showers & Cold FeetT

Murdoch in the Jungle_9_Hot Showers and Cold Feet_T

Waking on Saturday morning, already quite aroused from a dream, William kissed Julia awake as well. Her voice still scratchy from sleep, she reacted to his obvious urgency as she felt his firm, solid flesh press against her backside, and she feigned surprise, exclaiming, "Oh my."

She rolled over to face him only to be hurled into a hungry kiss. As soon as she was released from his passionate kiss, she said, "I fear my husband has an emergency …" She looked into his chocolaty eyes, his handsome face luminous in the toasty dawning hues, and felt her insides melt as he slowly nodded his head. "Does he need me to save him?" she asked, being rewarded by his failed attempt to speak, as his voice had gone dry with desire and his brain dizzy with lustful spinning, leaving him with only the ability to nod again in order to answer. Seductively, she unbuttoned and removed his pajama top. Wanting to please him down to the bone, she kissed enticingly down his body, "Detective, you're on fire," she said between kisses, "You are burning up," more kisses. She hurriedly released the string of his pajama bottoms, thrill pumping through her with his need-filled moan. As she slid the clothing down, she was surprised to hear a moan of her own escape. "Oh William, the flames are so high," she said with the sight of him.

Before honing in on the spot that would make him moan, that would remind him that he was glad to be alive, she would give him a taste of his own medicine. Her mouth ravaged the inside of his thigh. Her muffled giggle teased the air as she felt his hands take hold of her head, his fingers wrap in and grab firmly into her hair, and he tried to guide her to the one perfect spot. She released his flesh and scattered light kisses upwards towards what she knew he most wanted. But then, mischievously, she switched over to his other leg to suck roughly on his other thigh.

"Julia please," he said with his voice between a tormented whisper and a rebel yell.

Oh, how she wallowed in it – the pleasure it brought to tease your lover to interminable exhaustion. "So hot, hmm?" she tantalized, as she once again kissed upwards, getting enticingly closer, and closer, to his swollen, burning, tight, need. "I do believe …" she kissed his skin, "the detective needs," she moved closer, now her golden lochs making contact, she was so close, this kiss dangerously near, "needs me to," another kiss, oh so near, anticipation driving him to moan and call out her name, "extinguish this fiery flame," her steamy breath now enveloping him in a warm cloud of _almost_.

Julia knew what he really, really wanted – to be on top of her, so she shifted her position, lying on her back diagonally across their marital bed, her head tucked up against his most desperate spot.

He was confused, but the feel of her head, her silky mane, pressed against him sent bolts of wild want deeper into his voracious ache. He rolled onto his side. She moved up, slid underneath him as he shifted over her. He hovered above her, holding his weight on his hands and knees, her head below his pelvis. "Come," her husky voice called, as she reached up to pull him down to her, encouraging him to cover her face.

Oh, the world seemed to rocket away from him with her slippery, warm touch. It spun so, boundaries swirled and thoughts plummeted and twirled away into the whirlwind. " _Easy_ ," he reminded himself as the urge to thrust took over. " _Oh my God_ ," he thought with the first stroke. " _Oh this delicious, delicious woman … Oh my God, she is lovely_ ," the thoughts rocked and swayed as the power of his thrusts grew. "Julia," his voice croaked out. He was so close now. It was within reach. Harder! Demandingly he pushed. " _Oh, I've got her. Yes… So lovely, so very, very lovely_ ," the igneous eruption started. His pumping stretched out, extended, as the gooey, volcanic magma flowed through him, fire meeting water, forcing his steamy moan, "Mmm," he released it, soaked it in, floated, and sank in its bliss.

Afterwards, as he recovered, she noticed him wince when she rested her head on his shoulder, having briefly forgotten about his stitches and his injury. "Sorry," she said. She adjusted her position, placing her head lower onto his chest and he hugged her tight as she listened to his pounding heartbeat and rode the waves of his still rapid breathing. "I never did get around to taking the measurements of your wound last night. Will we be able to do it this morning – before you go into work?"

"Mm-hmm," he answered. Yet, so comfortable, neither of them moved.

Their thoughts having been tugged by his wound, after a time William broke the peaceful silence. He described what it had been like to be hanging on the meat hook – speaking to God, not for himself, for he had accepted death – but thanking Him for bringing him her. "I asked God to take care of you Julia … and then I nearly fell apart. I worked so hard to control my sobbing because the shaking hurt my shoulder so badly, but I failed. I began to mourn never seeing our baby. I suffered with such regret, and grief, that our child would never know how much he or she was loved by their father," William said, his emotion clearly strong with the pain of the memory. He took a deep breath, seeming to take in the scent of her hair and being soothed by it, he continued, "And I thought about so many things in my life. They say your life flashes before your eyes, and it does. I remembered, relived, so many, many moments … and Julia, almost all of them were when I was with you. I wanted God to know how grateful I was to have found you, and to have known you, and to have loved you, and to have been loved by you." He rolled her over onto her back. He fluttered kisses over her face, taking in the taste of her, inhaling her scent, convincing himself that she was right there with him, that she was his. He loved her more than any words could ever say. He wanted her to know the extent of his feelings – how she was everything to him.

He kissed her cheek, her jaw, her chin, her lips. He would kiss every inch of her, revel in her, worship her, savor every bit of her. Open every petal, caress the bottom of each leaf, be filled with her smell. He would slowly, warmly, deeply, bring her to ecstasy, bask in the melodious cries of her ultimate passion, knowing she too felt his love for her in every cell, every atom, down to her core, through her very soul. He showered her with a tender, loving, adoring "warm front," leaving her feeling delightfully cherished, limp, spent and deeply cared for.

They lie together for a time, naked, waiting for her body to float back down into alignment with the rest of the world. Once her breathing was cadenced with his, he told her he loved her one last time before he rolled onto his back and she felt the nippy air of the cold December morning replace his warmth. "Shall we?" he asked.

Seemingly halfway through getting ready, William sat in only his trousers on her vanity chair, Julia only clothed thus far in her chemise, stood tending to her experiment and his medical care. While Julia took and recorded detailed measurements of William's meat-hook wound for the comparison with Jackson's wound, he shared with her about the case. Having had some luck finding Mulligan's elusive right hand man, Aiden Kempsey, whom William suspected had moved Ieva Baltavesky's body after Mulligan had killed her in his office… and after a good night's rest…

" _And_ ," Julia thought to herself, " _Some pretty fantastic lovemaking in the shower last night and then again in bed just now_ …"

…And he felt right as rain. She so loved to see him become excited and optimistic about a case he had been struggling with. The burst in confidence and drive in her husband seemed to make him just sparkle and dazzle to the eye. The man was gorgeous on any given day, but when he felt like this, _Mm_ , he was outright irresistible.

"All done," she said, placing the bandaging tape back in her bag.

He pulled her into his lap, the two of them now sitting at her vanity together, and said, "I do remember a promise, in your beautiful note – something about afterwards – some sort of…" he gave her a puzzled face, but she knew exactly where he was going, "What was it…? Some sort of _**kissing**_ , wasn't it?"

Her lips almost pouting, she answered for him, "Kissing and making it better."

"Oh, more than that milady. I believe your note promised, ' _ **a lot**_ better," he added, as he took one of her curls into his fingers.

"William, I just finished my hair… And I have the Baby Shower today," she protested.

"Mm," he said. "Good thing you didn't finish dressing yet, I do believe I feel one of our storms coming on," he added, standing from the chair with a grunt, his lover in his arms. He kissed her, softly at first, but she intensified the kiss.

Suddenly ravenous, he couldn't get her to the bed fast enough. Passion ignited, sending wild, charged bolts of lightning throbbing down below, soon followed by the thunderous roars of moaning and demanding cries for each other. This love-storm was intense, and Plan C with this degree of rush, with the one needing to take, and to be taken, simultaneously, by the other, and needing to be taken and to take – right NOW, and HARD, and NOW, meant doing just that. Fate had made it happen, finally, Plan C, concurrently and in chorus with one another.

At first Julia below and William above, control so tenuous, William sensing he would not be able to restrain himself from the first moment his thrusting began, he flipped them, placing Julia on top. They found the rhythm… _He had to hold back, "She's close now – her strokes lengthening, Go! Take her now…"_

Julia's ravaged moan pierced the air…

 _He had her! "It's right there! Right there!_ " William exploded into euphoria, his rolling moan joining in her echo…

Marvelously spent, exhausted, crushed, Julia lay heavy on top of her husband, both of them winded and out of breath, hearts pounding with such strength that the rumbling of it rattled their ears.

He wanted her in his arms. "Come here," he called, his voice scratchy, prompting her to turn around and nestle down again on top of him, now her head on his shoulder, her breath throbbing and steaming into his neck.

"That was amazing," she said, as he pulled her to him tight, and he kissed her hair, and he took in her scent.

Unable to speak, William replied with a deep, slow, "Mmm."

It felt magnificent, the body completely loose, weak, placid with contentment. After a while, recovered enough, William took a deep, soothing breath and said, "I could stay here all day."

Normally, Julia would agree, but…

"Oh no, William. I'm starving," she declared as she gave him a loving shove in his chest, "Come on! Let's eat," she suggested heartily, crawling off of him. She would dress quickly, hair be damned, at least for now.

When William and Julia finally emerged from their bedroom, the mouthwatering smells of bacon and golden-browned toast wafted up to rouse their noses. "It is Saturday, right?" William asked, momentarily confused because Eloise was off on Saturdays.

Julia tucked her elbow into his arm, pulling him snug and replied, "Perhaps Ruby?" with a wrinkle at the corner of her mouth, sharing with him a gesture she had picked up from him.

"Mm," he agreed.

Downstairs, discovering Ruby had made a delightful breakfast, they suffered the consequences of their long-lasting and boisterous lovemaking antics. Taking advantage of the situation, as Ruby is often so wanton to do, she teased them mercilessly. "Well now, good morning … or is it afternoon?" she exaggerated. "And did you two lovebirds, um, well, did you _sleep_ well? She asked, slyly, stamping her accusation with a wink.

William cleared his throat and took a seat at the kitchen table, failing to hide his blushing, endearing himself to both of the women in the process.

Julia smiled and replied, "Yes. It was quite lovely. Thank you Ruby. And you?"

Ruby gestured for Julia to sit, and served them some of the eggs she had prepared. "I slept well," she answered, joining them at the table, "Although it was quite chilly. I was glad for the extra blanket … But I doubt the two of you would have noticed the cold."

Julia sat up taller, looked her younger sister directly in the eye, and said, "No. No. I found the temperature wonderfully warm actually." She took a sip of coffee and then shifted her blue eyes to gaze upon her husband. His eyes were solidly fixed down on his plate. She did believe she had never seen the man as interested in eating his eggs as he was this morning. She couldn't help but smile at the sight of him. " _He's desperately trying to avoid this whole situation_ ," she thought, his discomfort gleefully filling her with delight. "Don't you agree William?" she asked.

Lifting his head, revealing his crimson face for all to see, he held his warm, brown eyes to hers. He swallowed the last mouthful of eggs on his plate and still needed to clear his throat, "Yes," he said. He then quickly stood up and brought his empty plate to the kitchen counter.

Julia dropped her chin, avoiding Ruby's eyes, but oh, how happy she was. She wondered if it was possible to love him more.

Rather soon after that, William headed out, highly enthused about getting to the newfound address he had for Aiden Kempsey, thanks to his trip to the burlesque club last night. He pulled out his pocket watch, considering whether or not Kempsey would have already left for his Saturday morning shift at Davies Slaughterhouse. It had gotten quite late. With Julia and Ruby seeing him off, standing with him in the foyer, William reached for the front door and said, "Alright ladies, the last bastion of male presence is leaving, and I'm sure your Baby Shower will be a spectacular success." He kissed Julia good-bye and opened the door.

Everyone smelled it, felt the blinding, frigid, damp whiteness of it, before they actually saw it – It was snowing! Right there before their eyes, was the first snow to blanket the ground, and the trees, and the fences, and the world, since they had moved into their new home. William wrapped his arm around Julia, letting the beautiful sight sink in. His voice lower in the hush of the snowfall, William reassured Julia that the amount of snow seemed small, and he was sure all the guests would still come.

He bowed to her, tilted his hat at her, and said, raising his voice, including Ruby, "I hope you lovely ladies have a wonderful Baby Shower. I will attempt to arrive after the whole affair is over – for dinner." Julia nodded. "Good," he said with another nod, and then headed off.

The deep breath Julia took as she and Ruby stood together watching him walk down the front path of their house, open the front gate and head down the street to get a cab, intensified the feelings in her heart, particularly as the air flowed over the warmth in her chest. "I am really quite fond of my husband," she stated.

))) (((

Before arriving at the stationhouse, William had stopped at a florists shop to order flowers to be sent to the house for Julia later, celebrating and congratulating her on her Baby Shower. Last night, while he waited for it to be late enough to go question Dora Hart (Kempsey's girlfriend who had told the Moons' manager that she believed it was Kempsey who had taken her white-feathered showgirl costume), William had written the note that he had just sent with the bouquet. As he gathered up his supplies before heading over to Kempsey's address, he found himself reflecting on what he had written to her, about their wondrous love-storms, which according to his meteorological theory of lovemaking included both warm fronts with their steady downpours and cold fronts with their electrified thunderstorms, along with scattered showers and a myriad of other possible weather/love-filled events. It was ironic that since he had written his love-note only last night, they had experienced a delicious abundance of quite a few of them. He took a moment, pausing right where he stood, to be grateful for all he had, to thank God.

))) (((

As soon as they arrived, William sent a constable around to the back of Kempsey's building in case he tried to run, and brought Constable Hogan with him to knock on the front door. Hogan had agreed with him that "Kempsey" was most likely the name Mulligan had called up the stairs the day they had gone together to Davies Slaughterhouse. William hoped that Hogan would recognize Kempsey as the same man the constable had questioned the first Saturday after they had found Ieva Baltavesky's body, thus doubly indicating Kempsey's significance by his also being the one most disturbed by seeing Adomas' and Ieva's pictures.

The landlady who answered the door said that in fact Aiden Kempsey did live here, above her on the second floor, but that he wasn't there now. She told them that he had not come home last night, which was odd for Mr. Kempsey, explaining that she could always hear him from her apartment below his. William asked if she could let them in and she agreed.

Kempsey's apartment had a separate entrance on the side of the building. They found Constable Morris waiting by the side door. William pointed out to the constables, working to train them, that the snow on the ground at Kempsey's side entrance had not been disturbed, albeit for _their_ footprints. He concluded, "Assuming that the snowfall began around five in the morning, based on the observed rate of snowfall and the current amount on the ground of about two inches, we know that no one came in or went out of his apartment since then." 

Once inside, they found a photograph on the dresser of a man standing in front of the big Davies Slaughterhouse sign on the main building. "That's the man I questioned," Hogan said, reaching out to lift the picture.

"Don't," William rushed to stop him, "…touch it. I am going to want to take fingermarks." He instructed Hogan to use a handkerchief to avoid getting his fingermarks on things, demonstrating the method as he collected the picture as evidence. Under the bed William spotted and collected a white feather appearing to match those on the costume they found Ieva's body dressed in. While investigating under the bed, he also noticed reddish-brown smudges on the underside of one of the wooden slats holding the mattress. With Constable Hogan's help, he removed the slat to take to Miss James in the morgue to determine if the smudges were blood, and if so, if it was human. Using glue on thin sheets of paper, he collected trace evidence from around the room as well, making sure to get a few samples from under the bed.

After being analyzed, the evidence would show that the fingermarks in Kempsey's flat matched those found on the inside of Ieva's locket and the garbage-pail lid at the scene where they had found Ieva's body. The feather would match those on Ieva's costume, the smudges would turn out to be human blood, and the trace evidence would include burlap fibers matching those that Ieva's body had been wrapped in, as well the burlap sheets he and Jackson had been wrapped in the night they had been attacked and hung up on meat-hooks to be sawed in half. The magnitude of this evidence would prove that Kempsey had been the one to move Ieva's body, both to his flat, and to the scene behind the brothel where they found her dead.

But now, back in the police carriage with the collected evidence, William decided to go directly to Davies Slaughterhouse before taking the evidence back to the station, desperately wanting to see if they could find the elusive Mr. Kempsey. He had had an uneasy feeling, gurgling in his gut from the moment the landlady had noted that Kempsey had not come home last night, and William's mind had jumped to remembering his own ordeal on the meat-hook Monday night… And he had put two and two together… And he was worried that his questioning of Mulligan during yesterday's interrogation, asking the suspected murderer about the man who he had called to, up the stairs that day when William was with Hogan at Davies Slaughterhouse, for the unseen man to get some names and addresses from the book in his office, well now William was worried that having had asked about this man who he now knew was actually Kempsey – and further, even sharing his theory with Mulligan that it was this man who had moved Ieva's body after Mulligan had killed her, now William was worried that Mulligan might have had Kempsey killed to make sure his accomplice couldn't ever be found. His worry had mushroomed into dread, and William felt the urgency of it screaming in the pit of his stomach.

At the slaughterhouse, all the men working claimed not to recognize the man in the picture collected from Kempsey's flat. They refused to let the Constabulary search the slaughterhouse, forcing William and the constables to remove themselves from private property.

Considering his possibilities, William decided to leave Hogan and Morris outside of the slaughterhouse, instructing them to make note of any comings and goings, while he hurried back to the stationhouse to call the Inspector, and a judge for permission to search the premises, and to get started on analyzing the evidence.

When he returned to Davies Slaughterhouse, little more than an hour and a half later, with the Inspector and the judge's order and two more constables, and even some guns from the armory, Mulligan was waiting for them. By then they also knew that the fingermarks collected from Kempsey's flat matched with those from Ieva's locket and the garbage-pail lid where the body was dumped, and that the feather from his flat matched the ones on Ieva's dead body's clothing.

Mulligan admitted that he recognized the man in the picture from Kempsey's flat. With a surprised expression, William certain it was faked, Mulligan said upon seeing it, "Oh yes! Of course! Of course! That is Aiden Kempsey. Now detective, I don't actually remember if it was _him_ that I called up to that day to get the names and addresses you wanted. It certainly could have been. You won't find him here though… He asked for a few days off. Haven't seen him for days."

Steam simmered in William's veins, pounding his ears and threatening to cloud his head with anger. He looked to the Inspector and could tell the Inspector, too, knew that this slimy man's story would be difficult to disprove, especially considering the collusion and deception that all of the men at Davies Slaughterhouse seemed willing to maintain. Considering confronting Mulligan right there, about the "K" page being ripped out of the address book of Davies workers, William felt his fingers curl into fists – and even though it made absolutely no sense in this situation, he imagined, remembered really, the feeling of Darcy Garland's face as he made powerful impact against it with his right fist. His self-control was dangling from a string, and he knew he needed to step back or he would lose it. He literally did so, walking away from the man, finding the word " _ **PIG**_ " was stuck resounding inside his head, slowly taking shape as a memory of Mulligan insulting him, threatening him, in Judge Peterson's office.

After searching all of the buildings of Davies Slaughterhouse, the Constabulary determined that Kempsey was nowhere to be found. One of the constables found some clothing in a trash bin behind the building where the pig carcasses are first hoisted up onto the overhead assembly and the rotary saw slices each one in half, and the guts are removed… The same place where he and Jackson had been strung up too, hanging from meat-hooks, bound and gagged and naked and motionless, in the cold and the dark…. The same building where he had almost died, where he had faced his maker, praying for God to look over Julia and his unborn child…

The Inspector stopped William's fall into the trauma of his recent nightmare, "In the same bins where we found yours and Jackson's suits," he said. William felt the Inspector's blue eyes, steadying him as he held to them with all his might, calling him back from the abyss, to the case at hand. He heard it in the back of his head, reminding him, " _Kempsey… Find Kempsey._ "

Bolting his eyes to the doorway of the building with the overhead assembly and the saw, William said, "There would be blood… _**Human**_ blood."

The Inspector protected his best man, having considered this already, knowing that collecting such evidence would be fruitless. "No point, me old mucker, they've been working all day, too much blood," he said, sparing William any chance of having to walk into that building, and of having to confront his torturing memories, only to have them intensified by the horrific reality of it all as shown by the light of day.

William frowned, but in his chest, relief settled, alerting him to the realization that he had been guarding against seeing the place where it had happened again, now admitting to the fact that just the thought of it had sent a chill down his spine, undeniably, from his head down to his toes . He sighed, deeply, and reached up to rub his brow. _My God, his head was pounding!_

He asked to see the clothes found in the trash bins, noting that the size and style were similar to the clothing he had seen in Kempsey's flat. Searching the pockets, William was disappointed, finding nothing. He hoped the hairs he observed on the shirt would match the hairs he had collected from Kempsey's pillow in his flat, at least providing reasonable suspicion that these clothes discarded in the Davies Slaughterhouse bins belonged to Kempsey; at least providing some evidence that the man had been killed here.

"Let's question the workers," William suggested. But Mulligan refused to allow the Constabulary to speak with any Davies employees, claiming they would have to bring anyone they wanted to question to the stationhouse. Mulligan, the _**suspected**_ killer, and the word "speculated" had to be used because although the Constabulary had the man's letter-opener, which was almost certainly the weapon that had been used to kill Ieva Baltavesky, in their possession, it was considered as forbidden evidence under the law, and thus it was, that the man who had committed this crime had the audacity to smugly tell Stationhouse # 4's Inspector Brackenreid and Detective Murdoch that as far as he was concerned their mystery had been solved. He laid out his account, "Aiden Kempsey solicited the victim's services as a doxie. Unbeknownst to anyone, Kempsey was a perverted and disturbed man who killed the victim, dumped her body, and was now on the run suspecting the Constabulary was getting close to catching him."

Fighting his inner fury, and figuring Kempsey had actually been killed last night, via the rotary saw, William asked for the names of all of the men who had been working the last shift here at Davies Slaughterhouse yesterday. He imagined questioning the men at the station. Suddenly a flash flickered into his brain – he remembered Julia joking that Adomas' keys could be the key to the case… "I will also need to speak with the night watchman," he demanded firmly. Not blinking an eye, Mulligan provided him with the man's name.

))) (((

Once back at the station, constables were sent out to find the various Davies workers from yesterday's later shifts and bring them in for questioning. Knowing it would be a quite a while until the constables returned with any of them, William decided to get out to try to clear his head. Remembering he hadn't brought anything for lunch, he decided to head over to see George. Maybe the two of them could get some lunch.

His eyes dropped down to Adomas' things, still displayed on his desk. He remembered Julia's note, the thought calming him, warming him, somehow reigniting him as he pictured her sitting there at his desk yesterday writing it to him. He rested his chin down into his fist and contemplated the case anew. " _Seems I'm all out of clues to follow for Ieva_ ," he thought, frustrated that what that really meant was that he was all out of ways to prove that Mulligan was her killer, for William was fairly certain that Kempsey was dead, and as the accomplice who had moved her body, he had likely been the last chance to corral the guilty culprit.

He picked up Adomas' wedding ring, twirling it in his fingers, hearing Julia's soothing voice in his head, " _Wherever you are right now, my ring is on your finger, as yours is on mine. So rare, for a man to be willing to, to want to, wear one. Yet, you do – he did._ " She was truly brilliant… And so lovely.

His attention caught on the dead man's keys. William's face grew a smile, his mind replaying his being in the shower last night, and her silly joke about the _**keys**_ to the case. Reasoning that Ieva's and Adomas' murders were linked, he would move on to solving Adomas' murder. " _One of those keys would have to be to where he lived_ ," he thought, " _And if Adomas was the night watchman at Davies Slaughterhouse, explaining all these similar keys as Julia so adeptly observed, some of them would fit the locks to Davies Slaughterhouse's buildings! That would prove he worked there!"_ Suddenly he wished that he had brought Adomas' keys along just now, when they had had the judge's order to search the place.

William picked up the keys, tugged momentarily by the St. Valentine's key chain. " _They were Catholic too_ ," he thought, " _Soul-mates, Adomas and Ieva, or as Ettie noted, Adam and Eve._ " William had never tried to find the Catholic Church that Adomas had attended here in Toronto. "Adomas' _residence and his church would probably be near the slaughterhouse!_ " he thought. William was out the door before he had even noticed that he had not given up yet.

))) (((

William crossed himself as he walked into the Catholic Church that was located closest to the stockyards. Quickly finding the priest, he learned some important things. Adomas did attend this church. The priest knew the Lithuanian parishioner who had taken him in, thus William was able to find where Adomas had stayed while he was here in Toronto. The Father also told William that he had not seen Adomas since early this summer, explaining that he didn't worry about that however, because Adomas had told him that he would be leaving town for a while – that he was going to try his hand at hoboing. Something about that didn't sit right with William.

The address the priest had given him for Adomas' residence was very close by. The building was dilapidated but clean. William felt a pang in his heart upon stepping up to knock on the door, for it was obvious that Adomas had been spending very little money – and William knew it was because the man had been trying frantically to send as much money as possible back to his wife Ieva and their ailing little son Matis in Winnipeg… And William also knew that in the end both of them had died, that after all the struggle and heartache, all of them, had died.

The woman who answered the door spoke with a thick Lithuanian accent. She informed William that the key to the room where Adomas had stayed would not be on the St. Valentine's keychain he showed her because he had returned the key to her before he left.

"He left?" William asked.

The landlady told him that Adomas had moved out, or really more just left, back in the summer. He had told her that he was going to ride the train rails looking for work – claiming that he was sick of the misery of working in the stockyards and he was going to try the carefree life of a hobo. It was pointless for William to see his room; three other men had been living there for months. He thanked her for her help and left his number in case she thought of anything important.

Stepping back into the street, William checked his pocket watch. He would need to hurry if he wanted to get a bite to eat with George. There was a good chance the workers form Davies Slaughterhouse, hopefully including the night watchman, would be showing up at the stationhouse soon to be questioned. He took a cab, noting on the ride, that Julia's Baby Shower was about to begin. He imagined all the colorful dresses and lively chatting – and from what he could tell, there would be quite a bit of drinking as well. He shrugged to himself, " _Margaret Brackenreid won't like that_ ," he thought, reflecting on how the Inspector's wife had become a very busy event planner in the past few years. He sighed, thinking about how wonderful it had been for her to offer to throw this shower for Julia, and he found he would likely always be grateful to her, and he felt it; he was happy.

George's eyes grew wide as a smile took over his face at the sight of the detective standing at his door. "Sir!?" he exclaimed.

"I thought you might join me for lunch, George," William said.

George had just finished eating his puny, boring, lonely lunch, and thus, was far from hungry… However, there was no way in hell he would miss the opportunity to spend time with his mentor. "That would be wonderful," he declared, patting his quite full belly.

Over lunch, William caught George up on the case, realizing quite a lot had happened since the day George had been suspended. The blood on the rug had turned out to be human, but Mulligan had claimed it was blood from a man who had cut his finger off and bled profusely in his office. Unfortunately, the man in question corroborated his story, and further, Mulligan provided hospital records indicating the date of the incident was only about a week before Ieva was killed, giving a reasonable explanation for the human blood on his rug. The trail to proving that Mulligan had killed Ieva – without relying on evidence from the weapon, the letter-opener that George himself had stolen – had gone cold.

George apologized again for taking the weapon the way he did. "We've already put that behind us George, I too admit to going so far as being willing to break the rules on this case," William said, trying to settle George's concerns.

William went on to explain that they had found the man who had moved the body, a man named Kempsey, whose fingermarks matched those left at the scene where Ieva's body was dumped.

George got very excited with this news, but William indicated that there was more, and it didn't end up good.

William reminded George of the evidence they had that the body had been moved twice. The showgirl costume and burlap sheet and animal blood found at the scene where her body was dumped all indicated that her body had been moved once when her blood was still wet, and again later when it had dried. They knew she had died wherever the green rug was located because of the green fibers in her nose and mouth, (and probably the because of the human blood on Mulligan's green office rug as well), and then she had been changed into the showgirl costume somewhere else, because the costume didn't have any human blood on it, thus by then the blood had dried, and after that she had been wrapped in a burlap sheet – which by the way, matched the same burlap sheets he and Jackson had been wrapped in when they were nearly killed– and taken to the spot behind the brothel where they found the body.

George listened on, intrigued, thinking the evidence seemed pretty convincing so far, as William explained that he had found the first place where Ieva's body had been taken – to a flat belonging to the aforementioned man named Aiden Kempsey, as evidenced by finding a feather there matching the showgirl costume. As a side-note William added that it was this very costume that had allowed them to find Kempsey in the first place because Kempsey had stolen the outfit from his girlfriend who pointed them in Kempsey's direction. Even more evidence was found indicating Kempsey had taken the body to his flat, not only human blood under his bed, but his fingermarks from his flat matched those found at the scene.

"So, you've got him then sir!?" George exclaimed, wondering what could have gone wrong.

"We were unable to match the fingermarks to the actual man," William explained, because they discovered that Kempsey had likely been killed…

"Why not get fingermarks from his body then?" George asked.

"That's just it George," William said, shaking his head, "We don't have a body. It appears that, probably at the orders of Mulligan, if not by his own hand, Kempsey's body was disposed of, much as my own and Jackson's had almost been, by being sent down the line with all the other pig carcasses being butchered at Davies Slaughterhouse."

George gasped, his eyes wide with the memory and the wickedness of the deed, going so far as covering his mouth with the disgust of it.

William told him that they had found clothing, most likely belonging to Kempsey, in the same trash bins where his and Jackson's suits had been found that night. Even if William could show that the hairs on the clothing found at Davies Slaughterhouse matched hairs from Kempsey's flat, he didn't think it would be seen as more than circumstantial.

"So that's the end then?" George asked, "There is nothing substantial enough to prove that Mulligan killed Ieva Baltavesky, even though we know he did. Do we just give up… close the case as unsolved?"

Explaining that the dead end in Ieva's case didn't have to mean they couldn't get Mulligan, because he believed Mulligan was linked to the killing of her husband too, William told George that he had found a witness who knew Adomas Baltavesky from Winnipeg – and that this man had seen Mr. Baltavesky's body on a meatpacking freight train that had pulled into Burns' facility up in East York…

"Not in Wychwood Park, sir? Wasn't it reported on Adomas' death records that the train was at Wychwood Park when they found his body?" George wondered.

William took a deep breath, he felt another headache blooming. "I have reason, good reason, to suspect that Stationhouse 5 was faking much of the records on this case," he said.

George's heart raced. The history with Stationhouse 5 went deep on his part too. He knew, with them, it often got messy.

William went on, remembering he was going to tell George about the man who spoke to him at Burns' business, "This witness said Adomas Baltavesky had had experience working on meatpacking trains for Burns – loading ice into refrigerated cars from icing stations along the routes. Both this witness, and the coroner at Stationhouse #5…," William paused and looked at George, "Just one more advantage to being married to Dr. Ogden," he joked with a smile. Then he went on, "Both men said they saw a man meeting Meyers' description…"

The mentioning of this man's name raised one of George's eyebrows with both recognition and instantaneous, gut-wrenching, suspicion, thus also raising some of the hairs on his back as well.

"…who seemed to be in charge of the case," William excitedly revealed. "Julia was able to find out from the coroner at Stationhouse 5 that Adomas had been stabbed under his right armpit," William said, raising his right arm up in the air and demonstrating the exact spot, "It was Julia who figured out this method – linked it to a handshake. And from that case, we know this technique of killing is, well at least it was, used by _**American**_ spies."

A sensation of fear swirling around in his gut caught George's attention. This case was dangerous… very dangerous indeed.

William then shared with George his theory that Adomas had been killed by Mulligan, before Mulligan had killed Ieva, because he and possibly Davies too, had found out that Adomas was spying on them for Burns. That's why they had him killed. He wasn't sure about Davies' and Mulligan's connection with both the Canadian and American governments on this, and it worried him, but, he did suspect that Adomas had been dressed up to _**look like**_ he had been hoboing to throw people off of the trail of any connection he had with Davies Slaughterhouse…

William wrinkled his face. George had known the detective as long as Dr. Ogden had. He knew this gesture well. Something was definitely bugging the detective about this "faked hoboing" theory.

Reaching up and rubbing his brow, William added, doubt in his tone, "That is I thought so… until just now…" he said with a sigh, "Both Adomas' priest and his landlady said that Adomas, _ **himself,**_ had said he was going to go hoboing – he even stopped renting his room. It seems he left to be a hobo on the trains – to look for work I guess, last summer. Now we know he needed money. His son was sick. And he wrote to Ieva that he was coming into some big money… It just seems to me that going hoboing wouldn't be the way he would do that…"

The two men had the idea at the exact same time! They needed to question people who had met Adomas while he was hoboing – assuming that was what he was really doing on the trains. There might be witnesses, maybe someone saw who had killed him, or at least some information on what Adomas had been actually doing, who he had been working for.

Right from the start, George figured he would be joining the detective, although there was some discussion about it.

"Undercover operations like this one are always risky," William said. "To go undercover, disguised as a hobo, out looking for work, or even if I say I'm out looking for Adomas… could claim to be friend… who has news about his son, his wife… Well, it is the dead of winter. It might not be too believable. And then there's this whole problem with Meyers being involved… And American spies… Clegg…?"

"Sir," George interrupted, "I can't let you go alone. It's too dangerous. I'll join you."

"George, I can't ask you to do that," William insisted. "You've already been suspended…"

"Sir, you know I'm right. What about our "Murdoch rule?" The Inspector made that rule just for situations like this!" George whispered, trying to assert his point with his eyes.

William seemed to be budging; George recognized his 'admitting it' customary, corner-of-the-mouth wrinkle. "And besides," he said, "it is best to have someone along to keep you on the straight and narrow. If I hadn't been alone, I never would have stolen that letter-opener," George asserted.

And so the scheme had been hatched. William and George would go undercover as hobos to try to find witnesses to help prove that Mulligan was involved with the murder of Ieva Baltavesky's husband, Adomas. George was put in charge of finding out about the train schedules. They could leave Monday morning. William told George to find a train to Winnipeg, figuring that that was where the train he was killed from was coming from. They went their separate ways, both acknowledging that mixed in with the seriousness and the worry, there was a shared sense of adventure as well.

))) (((

Once back at the station, William filled the Inspector in on the plan. In actuality, he had only alluded to George's involvement, knowing the Inspector would need deniability if it ever came down to it. Ultimately, they both knew that the Inspector would never have let the hoboing undercover plan happen if his detective were to undertake it alone. George was a good solution to the problem of who else would go for many reasons – one of which was that no one was as likely to notice that George had also gone missing. They needed a cover for where the detective had gone though, deciding to suggest he may have been killed or harmed in the line of duty, knowing that would mean they would have to make it appear that the Constabulary was out looking for him.

Oh how the thrill of it pumped through William's veins, causing his heart to race, his thoughts to seem to fly. Yet, there were symptoms though, that he tried to push aside, symptoms of dread too. The timing was bad, that was for sure. Julia was pregnant, needy… it sent a chill through him thinking of the possibilities, and he shoved the thoughts way – hard.

The questioning of the men who had worked the later shifts at Davies Slaughterhouse yesterday led basically nowhere into the investigation of what had happened to Aiden Kempsey. William was astounded at how thoroughly Mulligan, maybe Davies too, had managed to keep all of these men in line. They all had the same story… so much the same that he knew it had been rehearsed, he knew it was a lie, but he would never be able to prove so. All of the men, including the night watchman, claimed that although they did know Kempsey, that he had _**not**_ been to work for many days, thus corroborating Mulligan's statement that Kempsey took some days off, and that there was no evidence of foul play at Davies Slaughterhouse last night.

William was excited about one thing though. He had asked the night watchman for his keys, which the man was willing to provide. William had left the interview, claiming to need to verify one of the night watchman's statements with his records, and then photographed the man's keys. Five of them matched some of the keys on Adomas' keychain. However, frustratingly, the night watchman said that he had started working as the night watchman at the beginning of the summer, which would make sense if Adomas had needed to be replaced as the Davies night watchman when he left to go hoboing at that time, as the priest and landlady had claimed. And still, everyone working at Davies Slaughterhouse still claimed to have never seen Adomas Baltavsky, and further, this new night watchman said that he had worked at Davies' for years before he took the night watchman job, and he was certain he had never seen the man in the photograph of Adomas, nor the woman in the photograph of his wife Ieva for that matter, either.

William had reasoned that the keys could prove Adomas Baltavesky worked at Davies Slaughterhouse, besides all the men's claims to have never met him – but the keys could also have been obtained by Adomas without anyone at Davies' having knowledge of it, or so they could claim. Add to that the problem that he wouldn't even have Adomas' keys if Constable Jackson hadn't "known someone" at Stationhouse #5. And using the keys as evidence would entail confronting Detective Dermott and Inspector Stanford, and now he knew that they were being influenced by Meyers and his "National Security," threats. In the end, the fact that Adomas had five keys from Davies' Slaughterhouse on his keychain only solidified William's resolve to investigate what had happened to Adomas Baltavesky while he was riding the trains as a hobo looking for work last summer.

His mind made up, William decided to call Ettie and arrange to meet with her in Winnipeg. By the time he had hung up the phone with her, they had agreed that both William and George would stay with her at her "coffee house" in Winnipeg, arriving on Wednesday. Ettie explained that she would be able to put them in touch with people who would know much more about the inner-goings-ons between these meat-industry magnates, indicating that particularly some of the women in her "coffee house" might be able to shed light on the case.

As he headed home in a cab, William struggled with his thoughts, emotions, fears about staying with Ettie, provoking the strongest reaction whenever he thought of Julia… Forcing himself to think of something else, he asked himself what he needed to do before he and George would head out on Monday morning. " _I'll need different clothes…"_ the plans started, distracting him from what really worried him the most. Once the carriage pulled up to the house, William had focused his thoughts on Julia's Baby Shower. The Sun had already set, and the glow of the lights from their house warmed every cell in his body. One last thought got pushed aside, about how come Monday, he would be out in the cold winter weather day and night… he pushed the thought away and paid the driver.

))) (((

When William first came in the front door, he smelled Eloise's delectable beef stew coming from the kitchen down the hall to his left, and he heard women's voices in the living room just past the foyer on the right. " _They're still here_ ," he thought, somewhat surprised for it was past seven o'clock. He took off his coat and hat and paused at the living room entrance. There were still three women here, one of which was Margaret Brackenreid, and all were highly engaged in energetic conversation. They had not noticed him. The flowers he had sent were beautifully displayed in a vase on the center coffee table. The sight made him smile.

Julia looked up and caught sight of him. Quickly her eyes went back to the woman speaking and she said, "Excuse me ladies, I'll be right back." She worked particularly hard to get her seven-plus month's pregnant body out of the chair, seemingly in a hurry. Her body language suggesting secrecy, she rushed William back into the foyer, out of sight.

They shared a quick kiss. Then Julia huddled close to her husband and said quietly, "William, I'd like you to escort Margaret home… She's quite … tipsy."

William pulled back with surprise. He lifted an eyebrow at her, "Tipsy," he said, his face wrinkled with doubt, "Margaret?"

"Yes," Julia whispered excitedly with the gossip. Her eyes grew big, "She quite indulged!" she added with a giggle.

"Oh," he replied, raising his eyebrow at her once again, accenting the scandal. They turned to go back and join the ladies, but William took her arm – stopped her. "Julia," he whispered, "Do you really think I should take her home to the Inspector in such a state?"

Pausing briefly to think, to imagine it really, Julia responded, "I think it will give the Inspector years' worth of ammunition to use when they argue about his drinking…"

William nodded.

Caroline, a suffragist friend of Julia's, noticed the couple huddled near the doorway whispering. "Oh my," she announced, "The man of the house is finally home!" Much to William's surprise, the band of three women broke into applause as he and Julia walked into the room. Ellie Masterson said, "The flowers you sent are quite beautiful, William…"

Julia quickly slid her arm in his and squeezed him tight, "Oh yes, William. They are splendid!" adding a tender kiss to his cheek, "Thank you. That was very thoughtful."

"And very stimulating!" Caroline, who also seemed to have over-indulged in drinking alcohol, declared.

Julia's heart began to race. She had hoped with Ruby and Emily out of the room, she … and William, might have been spared the embarrassing talk about his love note, which Ruby had absconded right out of the flowers he had sent earlier and read aloud to all the ladies present at her Baby Shower.

"How is that?" William asked, just before his eyes focused on the opened card on the coffee table next to the flowers. Julia noticed his face was already red before he swallowed, trying to cope, before the woman even answered his question.

"Well your romantic poem detective, of course. Your wife is surely a very lucky woman," Caroline added, tucking her chin and fluttering her eyelashes at him, prompting Julia to squeeze his arm even tighter, jealousy bubbling up inside of her.

He turned to give his wife a stern, almost disciplining look. Raising an eyebrow he said, "Again, Julia?" referring to the last time Ruby and Emily had visited, and Julia had "kissed and told," telling them both about his prowess, and their exquisite happiness, in the bedroom.

She released his arm and marched back to her seat on the couch. "Oh no. Don't go blaming me for this one mister … You wrote it. And you sent it to our house, during my Baby Shower…" Before she sat, she turned to him, love for him, mixed with glee upon the sight of his shocked face, gurgled up to melt her heart. She would dig in the barb now, smash the winning point, "…Knowing Ruby was here."

It flashed immediately over his face – regret, awareness of how obvious his mistake had been. " _Ruby, of course!"_ he thought, " _What was I thinking,_ " he scolded himself. "Did she …"

Ellie took this one, "Oh yes! Ruby stood up here," she patted the coffee table, "On her soap box, with all of the women here gathered round…"

Julia looked at William, " _Stunned. Absolutely stunned_ ," she thought.

"She read your note aloud," Caroline finished. "It was so beautiful. Everyone loved it," she said.

Ellie continued, "Your analogy between storms and lovemaking was very seductive and alluring, William. We found ourselves becoming quite enlightened about … the bedroom," even Ellie fell into laughter. Of course it was contagious and Caroline and Margaret cascaded along with her.

William turned as red as Julia had ever seen him – save for when the desk clerk read the parrot's words aloud to them at the hotel. Although she felt terribly for him, she couldn't help but start to giggle herself. She grabbed a hold of the edge of the couch and bounced and bumped, trying to get up. She figured the least she could do was to go stand with him through all this.

Seeing his wife trying to get up, he rushed over to give her a hand. Once she was on her feet she threw her arms around his neck. "My God, I love you William Murdoch." She declared. Joyed, she felt him wrap his arms around her waist…

"And I you," he said softly. They tightened the hug to a round of applause. William released his wife. The couple stood facing the three women and he said, "So, I'm sure you must have talked about other things besides my flowers …" he cleared his throat, "… and my note. I see there are quite a few gifts…"

Suddenly all eyes turned to the entrance as Ruby and Emily came barreling in. "William! You're here!" Ruby exclaimed. The two women perused the room. William and Julia both knew that they were trying to ascertain whether or not the jolly tale had already been told.

Not surprisingly to Julia, at least not after she had seen William take charge of the situation a few years ago, launching an "investigation" into the crime of her, "kissing and telling," and "interrogating the witnesses," William was quick to take control of this situation as well. He bowed politely to them, "Miss Ruby. Dr. Grace." They nodded back. William lifted the card from the table, held it up and shook it in the air. "There have been reports of theft. You have been accused of stealing this card … Of, how shall I say it? Disclosing state secrets. Such crimes are …"

Julia joined in, saying the rest with him, hearing Terrence Meyers' voice in her head as she did so, "…Considered treason and are punishable by death."

Ruby and Emily looked at each other. They turned back to the detective. Emily weakened, declaring quickly that she really had nothing to do with it. Ruby gave her a playful dirty look and then said to William, "The penalty seems rather steep, don't you think?"

Interrupting the whole show, Margaret stood up and walked over to William, well, more _**stumbled**_ over to William really. She stood in front of him, lifted herself up on her toes to get closer to his face and whispered, "Detective," her breath pungent with intoxication, the power of the scent prompting William to take a step back. The sudden change in distance between them staggered her balance and she fell forward into him, grabbing a hold of his jacket collar to steady herself.

"Margaret," he said, "Are you quite alright?" with an eyebrow raised at her.

"Yes. Yes, detective," she slurred, "Just a little too much of that … delshus choc… chocolate …" she struggled to find the word, "…stuff." She placed her index finger over her lips and said, "Shh, don't tell Thomas. Speaking of Thomas, detective, I would very much appreciate it if you would teach Thomas…" she lifted her eyes from his collar to meet his eyes, "My goodness Detective Murdoch… You truly are a handsome man…"

Julia reached over and took a careful hold of her elbow. "Margaret," she said, "Perhaps you should sit down." Julia turned to William and said compassionately, "I think she should stay here for dinner. It might sober her up." He nodded.

Looking at Julia, Margaret declared, "Oh, I remember now." She turned her attention back to William and said, wobbling, "Detective, would… me please, teach… you… you teach Thomas about those warm fronts. They sound wond…ful!"

William turned to Julia, his eyes pleading with desperation.

 _Barreled over with laughter in her imagination_ , Julia cleared her throat, gaining everyone's attention, "I believe Eloise has been very patient with holding our dinner. I think we had best go eat. Ellie. Caroline. Are you going to join us as well?"

Both ladies took heed of their clue that it was time to go and said their good-byes, during which Julia leaned over to William's ear and whispered, "I don't think Margaret will remember any of this William. She is quite drunk."

"Perhaps," he sighed, as his eyes held hers, seeming to beg fate to make it so.

Dinner was lively, delicious and fun. It did help to sober Margaret up, but William still escorted her back to her house. Arriving back home, he heard Julia laughing as Ruby told some wild tale or another. He giggled to himself, feeling so happy to hear her enjoying herself so. He hung up his coat and hat. He rested a shoulder against the entrance to the living room, watching the women. Deciding to make a fire for them, he stepped into the room. "How is everyone?" he asked as he crossed the room and leaned down to give Julia a kiss.

He built the fire – first small sticks, tucked the wrapping paper from the gifts into the spaces, and then some bigger logs on top. He lit it and then stepped back. Quickly the paper grew into flames.

"Such beautiful colors," Emily declared. Everyone agreed.

Every indication suggesting the three women intended to stay up late talking, for they would want to catch up with each other before Ruby and Emily left Toronto tomorrow, William told them goodnight. He was going to take a shower and go to bed, deciding it was too late to tell Julia his plans to go undercover with George. " _She seemed a bit too intoxicated for such a discussion anyway,"_ he rationalized in his mind. He reminded Julia he wanted to attend the early mass tomorrow. He gave her a kiss and headed upstairs.

While in the shower, William found he was filled with a sense of trepidation. Not only had he not yet told Julia about his undercover hoboing trip, but he was considering not telling her about his plans to meet with Ettie – to stay with Ettie while he was in Winnipeg. Horrible throes of dread pumped through him each time he imagined telling Julia. Repeatedly the flashes of his memories of her devastated sobbing in reaction to his merely having looked at the waitress at George's Author's Awards Dinner , although guilt was still weighing heavy on him for what he had imagined doing with the woman at the time. " _But, wouldn't telling her about Ettie risk having the same thing happen… upset her so much that she would become sick, even endanger the health of the baby with her gut-wrenching crying? All for nothing…_ " for he knew in his heart he had no romantic interests in Ettie Weston, at least not anymore? By the time he had dried off and dressed in his pajamas, he had decided, he would not tell Julia about Ettie, and he would tell her about going undercover as a hobo with George – he would tell her tomorrow – before he left for church.

Sunday morning:

Both partially dressed, Julia sat at her vanity, brushing out her golden, wavy hair, while William hopped around in the background, pulling on a sock. After completing the sock task, William glanced over at her, his mind, his heart really, trying to work up the courage to tell her about his plans to go undercover with George, so that they could try to find witnesses, likely other hobos, who could implicate the killer of Adomas Baltavesky. He sighed.

Astute, and highly attuned to him, Julia noticed, looking to him momentarily in the mirror. She also noticed his eyes dart away from hers, and a trickle of worry entered her heart.

Deciding he preferred to have this discussion with his pants on, William pulled on his trousers and then approached, leaning his buttocks up against her vanity. Internally, he gave himself a shove. "I spoke to George yesterday… about giving him some money to help him through his suspension without pay," he started. "It turns out that George has received quite a good sum in royalties for his books…" William continued, reaching up and scratching his head, and then subconsciously giving away his stress by rubbing his forehead, "He said he hasn't told anybody about it, he didn't want to appear to be boasting, but he reassured me that he has no worries when it comes to money."

"How was that for you William, making such an offer?" she asked, thinking that might be the spur of his anxiety.

Before he mustered up an answered for her, he found himself caught by her eyes. She was so very beautiful, and he loved her so that his heart ached, and he would do anything not to hurt her… William wrinkled his face like he so often did, for he knew that was exactly what he was about to do.

She recognized his expression, she had seen it so many times before, he was admitting to something, or apologizing. She thought it was about his difficulty with his struggle with his change in status, and revealing it to George…

William pushed his regret aside and answered, "It was not so bad. I prefaced the offer by saying that we were fortunate, as a married couple, to benefit from your wealth, and I made it clear that offering the money to him was your idea."

Julia went back to brushing her hair. Her lovely husband stayed propped on her vanity, and therefore she knew there was more. He braced himself, gripping his fingers into the wood trim on each side of his hips.

"Um…"

Alarm gurgled in her gut. Whatever he was working up the nerve to say… it was big.

"George and I… well, we talked about the case, and he – well we, decided he would join me on the next part of it," he finally spit his words out, still not really telling her what he knew would most upset her.

"Oh?" her face becoming puzzled, "isn't he suspended – wasn't he told specifically not to work on this case, after he stole the weapon… Isn't that why he is suspended, for stealing the manager's letter-opener?

He took a deep breath, treading on thin ice now, "Technically it's not actually the same case." He cleared his throat, "That was Ieva Baltavesky, this is Adomas."

She gave him a discerning look.

"And, um well it won't be, um, here in Toronto," he said, forcing himself to keep his eyes up, to be brave enough to look her in the eye.

Rocketing at him, her eyes met his, as he expected, like a freight train – _"Scared? Angry? Probably both,"_ William thought. He told himself to breathe, continue moving forward.

"You suspect the same killer, don't you? Mulligan?" she said, the squeak in her voice betraying her rising concern, her thoughts racing to how cold-blooded and brutal the dastardly man had shown himself to be, remembering William's horrendous near-death experience on the end of a meat-hook, dangling on the butchering line to be sliced up, as if he was just like one of many pig carcasses hanging from the same ceiling with him, in the dark…

William swallowed away some of his dread. "Yes, I suspect he is Adomas' killer as well – at the very least I think Mulligan is closely involved with killing Adomas – and now Kempsey…"

"Where?" she interrupted.

Momentarily thrown, he looked puzzled before remembering he had already told her that he and George would not be in Toronto. "Um… Adomas left Toronto, supposedly became a hobo riding the freight trains looking for work... he had experience as an icer – um, loading ice from ice stations into the roofs of refrigerated train cars full of meat. I think he might have been involved in the distribution of bad meat last summer – all those deaths… Well, George and I are going to um… we're going to try to find people – other hobos who would have known him. Who might know what really happened to him," he explained. He watched the woman he loved as she began to come apart at the seams…

"You are doing this _**now**_ William?! Now...?" she squeaked, "I'm … I could go into labor – and _**surgery**_ anytime. I mean if I did, um this early, the baby probably wouldn't survive – but still. I have never needed you more than I need you now…" Julia jerked away, looked away, trying to hide the wrinkles taking over her face, the onslaught of tears she felt welling up. She took a deep breath, managing to pull herself together somewhat. "How long?" she asked, still unwilling to look at him with the question.

There was a delay, for William was struggling with the answer. Her eyes turned back to meet his. His face was blank…

A hint of anger seeping into her voice, Julia said sarcastically, "Oh, of course… You don't know how long."

Taking a deep breath, he replied quickly, "Probably four or five days, maybe a week." And there it was, his wrinkled mouth.

"But it could be more," she asserted, telling him the extended time limit, more than asking him if it was so.

He nodded, unable to deny it.

Julia gave in to the flood of emotions, and her face wrinkled up, becoming red and blotchy, and her eyes swelled, wet with tears. "It could be forever. You could be killed out there in the dead of winter, no badge, dressed as a hobo. You might never come home," she panicked.

William tried to scoop her up, hold her in his arms...

But, she pushed him away. "Don't try to comfort me William," she cried. Suddenly, she was out the door. He took up chase. "Don't you dare try to comfort me," her voice surged up the stairs, "I don't like this! I don't like it one bit! And as far as I'm concerned, you are abandoning me – and you won't be around to comfort me, so just leave me alone," she belted out her fears and ran down the rest of the staircase as fast as her pregnant legs could carry her.

He followed, made the turn at the halfway point of the stairs…

Julia turned back to face him, stopping him in his tracks. "No, William. Don't. I need a minute," she said firmly, her eyes focused and sharp, penetrating deeply into his big, wide, beautiful, brown ones.

Acquiescing, he slumped his shoulders, swallowed back his pain, and turned and headed back up the stairs.

Ruby stood in her room, huddled over the tiny keyhole with her eye glued through it gawking out into the hallway, although she unfortunately had determined that she could see nothing. Her outstanding hearing, quite useful in her profession as a journalist, was now finely honed in on the argument it seemed her sister and her brother-in-law were having, particularly since their bedroom door had been flung open and the voices grew loud enough for her to make out their words.

" _Abandoned! Jules had said_ _ **abandoned**_?" the screeched out words reverberated in her head. Simultaneously she wondered how a man as dedicated to his wife as William was, could ever abandon her, while at the same time she entertained thoughts of she herself throttling him for doing any such thing, to his _**pregnant**_ wife. _Of course_ , she calmed herself, _she had best know the whole story first_.

Not so long later, William heard Julia as she stepped back into the doorway of their bedroom. He was completely dressed now, in a suit, kneeling down to tie his shoe.

Leaving the door open, unknowingly allowing her nosy sister to hear, and with her tone more in control, she asked, "Are you leaving now?"

And he realized she thought he was about to leave her, right now, to go undercover… And it wasn't that bad – yet.

"No," he hurried to reassure her, standing, stirred by the pull of her, wanting only to be closer.

"Church then?" she asked.

"I was planning to," he suggested, cueing that he would stay to talk if she wanted. "Um, George and I aren't leaving until tomorrow morning," he added.

He saw his words hit her, plagued by her response, and it started a disquieting hum in his ears. Almost like she had been punched in the stomach, he saw it, he heard it in the buzzing silence, a twitch, a gasp – and it set ablaze inside of him, a battle. He heard her again in his head, telling him not to comfort her, and he would try not to… respect her request, that was the least he could do. But the pressure of it, the excruciating competition between his desire to do what she had asked, and his desire to do what she had asked him _**not**_ to do, it steamed and pulsed tremendously. He exhaled, working to dispel some of it.

Julia stepped closer to him, seemed to soften. "Pray to your God, for him to bring you back to me William," she said, monotone and dull, but with such a pleading in her eyes.

His mind raced. " _She does not believe, called Him, "_ _ **my**_ _God." She does not have faith as I do… to help her cope. There is nothing to offer her comfort… And yet, losing me is something she has – we have – fought with so many times before… that such uncertainty, that dealing with the possibility of it, is inevitable?_ " he wondered.

"Julia," he said with his voice taking on that reasonable, calming tone she had heard so many times before, "We both know… The irony is that anytime I walk out that door I might be killed, that I might not come home. Remember Bristol – I had gone to _**church**_ that morning…"

Fright took her face once again, "And I thought you had died!" she tried to yell, but squeaked instead.

William stepped towards her, every bone, every muscle, called for him to ease her suffering, to have her in his arms, to tell her it would be alright. But he stopped himself, seeing the warning still present in her eyes.

Recovering a bit, she managed to sound more in control, rational, "Besides it's all odds and what we are willing to accept, isn't it? Like with whether we would abort our child or not..." she said, placing her hand protectively, cherishingly, over her expanded belly. "The odds at 85 percent successful, and so we decided it was worth trying… You go out on a case, and yes, William, it is better if you are not alone, and I am glad that George will be going with you, but you go out, and then it's as if there is an 85 percent chance you will come home. But… undercover? Well then it's down to 65 percent. But…" and now her control slipped away, "but _this_ case William, this man's case – _This_ case involved Meyers, don't forget – and the victim was stabbed – probably by an American spy! Add in _spies_ and _Americans_ and the odds are too frightening for me to even consider," Julia cried, seeming to crumple and crumble right in front of him.

Unable to tolerate it any longer, he grabbed her, pulled her close. She struggled, wiggling, pushing at him, but she ended up in his arms… And she let go of her resistance… And she wept on his shoulder, her cries muffled and devastating from within the safety of the cocoon. William's beautiful, perfect voice soothing in her ear, while his strong, gentle hands stroked her hair, her back, and he told her that he was right there with her, and that he loved her with all of his heart, that he loved her so very, very much. And after a time, he reminded her that she had told him that she loved _**all**_ of him, even the detective part… and then he tried to make her breathe, to speak, by asking her if she loved him as she had said she did…

"I do," she sniffled, pulling back, making some distance, giving herself room to breathe, "Very much I do."

"Good," he said with a subtle nod as his thumb wiped a tear from her cheek, and he gave her a smile, a smile that, as always, won her heart, and provoked a smile from her in return.

She stepped back further, "Go on then, you'll have to hurry to make the late mass." And then he kissed her, and rushed to put on his coat and ran out to find a cab.

))) (((

Once William had stepped in the front door, carrying a bag with his newly acquired hobo coat and shoes purchased from a charity drive at his church, he was greeted by Julia's rush to the door.

"Oh William! I'm so glad you made it on time. Ruby's train leaves in just over an hour," she said, kissing him and eyeing his package.

"The church was having a charity drive," he explained, holding up the bag, "I bought an old used coat and boots… for…" His eyes darted to the living room where he figured Ruby was, worrying that she might overhear. Regrettably, the tension was back. "For the case," he finished with his customary 'apology' face. He noticed a scowl…

Ruby had joined them in the foyer. "There is still the suitcase," she said, "Julia and I…"

Julia interrupted her, "William could you get it?" she asked.

"Gladly," he answered. "We'll all go to the train then?" he asked, pausing in taking off his coat. Julia nodded and he decided to leave his coat on since they would be leaving shortly anyway.

William ducked into their bedroom to drop off his hoboing clothes, and then went down the hall to retrieve the suitcase.

The sight of the gargantuan suitcase provoked a sigh. " _Should have taken off the coat_ ," he thought, imagining the sweat and struggle he was in for.

With a few manly grunts, William managed to get the mammoth-sized suitcase into the carriage. Already seated in the cab, Ruby teased, "Now that I know you will soon be hoboing for a living William, perhaps I should give you a tip."

His eyes burrowed into her, unable to hide his shock, his annoyance, at first, before he made himself smile.

Julia saw his reaction, quickly covering up for Ruby's unexpected inner-knowledge about his going undercover, fast on her feet, she grabbed William's elbow before he would help her into the cab. "It would be better payback if you didn't Ruby," she said, her expression forewarning that she was about to tell one of her jokes, "The detective here was notoriously reluctant to tip the bellboy on our NYC honeymoon," Julia giggled, "It caused quite a stir."

William pulled her aside and whispered, a stern tone to his manner, "Julia, she is a reporter for the New York Times, who has worked on a story directly related to my going undercover, on the meat industry, just this summer…"

"And she is my sister, who overheard our argument and worried for me," Julia said, giving him a matching tone. "At least _**someone**_ cares," she added.

Taking offense, William started to complain, "Julia, I care."

"Not enough _**not**_ to go," she retorted.

They both glanced up to see Ruby who was still seated in the carriage, Julia's only sibling immediately turning away and straightening her dress, pretending not to be attempting to hear them.

William frowned and then said, louder, "Give us a moment," catching Ruby's eye.

Stepping Julia further away from the cab, William told his wife, the woman he loved more than anything in the world, more than life itself, "If you really don't want me to go Julia, then I won't…" His warm, brown, eyes beckoned to hers, "But I want you to think about it…"

She interrupted him, still feeling angry, "Of course I don't want you go," she said her steel-blue eyes firm and holding onto his.

"Then I won't – _**but**_ I want you to take some time to think about it. We will discuss it again tonight," he bargained, "Hmm?" he asked, softening, searching for her agreement.

Julia sighed. To be honest, she was already feeling a shift, a degree of responsibility with being the one to make the decision that she did not feel before. "Alright," she replied, seeming to be able to hold on to her anger.

Just before Ruby took her leave for the train, Julia watched from a distance on the platform as her sister spoke in hushed whispers to her husband. William's reaction to her sister clearly visible, for he faced Julia directly, she was confident she knew what it was Ruby was telling him. She had it right…

"Do you have any idea how much she worries about you?" Ruby barked.

"I do," he replied simply, for he was certain that he knew, even more so than Ruby did.

Tough and full of mettle, Ruby challenged him, threatened him, "You had better be careful – and you had better get back before that baby comes…"

William swallowed, for he knew how important it was that he did these things, and he knew in his heart that he couldn't promise…

"…And you better call her," Ruby added.

And here he knew he could not, for doing such a thing would blow his cover, and therefore doing the one would mean not doing the other. "I can't promise you that Ruby. Calling would risk drawing attention to… it would cause doubt about, um – I will be riding freight trains, as a hobo. It would not be safe to go to a phone. And, I am going with George…"

"I know that," she said.

"And so I have a responsibility to keep _his_ cover safe too – but I will try, at least once or twice," William finally agreed.

Once her train came to a stop, Ruby hugged them both good-bye and boarded. It was touching, for both sisters had tears in their eyes. They had a special bond, and they would miss each other greatly.

))) (((

Later that evening, hearing the doorbell ring from down in his workroom, William put aside his newest invention, currently a pile of a waxy, canvas material and some straps, and called out to Julia as he hurried up the stairs, "I'll get it." Passing by her pregnant silhouette seated reading on the couch in the living room, and reaching the foyer, the cozy, comforting smells of his own Sunday cooking settled into the back of his awareness. Without having Eloise to cook, for it was her day off, William often took on the task of preparing their Sunday evening meal. With the sumptuous odors lingering in his nostrils, he recognized a heartfelt sense of pride and caring he felt whenever he cooked for them. His mind flashing a reminder to himself to check on his potpie before it burned, he opened the door to find George Crabtree.

"George!" he greeted the suspended constable, soon to be, hopefully, his undercover-hobo sidekick.

Lifting up a large brown envelope, George replied, "Sir. I thought you might want to see the routes and times for tomorrow morning." George was highly tuned to the detective, and he could tell that there was a reluctance… a pause, prompting him to ask, "You haven't changed your mind, have you?"

"No… uh, no I haven't but, uh…" William glanced back towards the living room.

George leaned in closer to William and nearly whispered, "The doctor, sir?"

Just then, George's eyes shifted to focus on Julia who had walked into the foyer behind William.

"Doctor Ogden," George greeted, now unsure whether the detective had told his wife about their plans or not. "I venture to say Miss Ruby got off safely?" he asked.

Answering him, Julia walked up and took William's elbow, "Yes, though there was a bit of a battle with her suitcase," she said, giving her husband's bicep muscle a little squeeze. She felt the urge to lean over and kiss his cheek, but held back knowing he was not a fan of being affectionate in front of others.

George shared with them that he had seen Emily off earlier as well, adding that she had told him she was looking for a teaching position here in Toronto, and, finding he was comfortable with the two of them knowing how he felt about Emily, he shared that he was hopeful that she might be back permanently. They invited George to join them for dinner, and he accepted. Then William excused himself to check on the oven and bring out some drinks. Julia and George went into the living room so the good doctor could show him her Baby Shower gifts.

Awkwardly, for George still was not sure how much the doctor knew of their sleuthing-disguised-as-hobos plans, and whether or not her reaction had been, or possibly would be, negative, George thanked her for making the offer to help him financially.

"I hear you have been quite successful with your books then George," she said.

"Oh yes, I have made more money from my writing this year than I have from the Constabulary – even without considering my suspension without pay for a month," he replied, "Why just the book about a peddler in the southern United States, that's the book I won the award for, at the Author's Awards Dinner, that you and the detective attended, well mostly attended…"

Julia's thoughts drifted away, her mind stolen by the sting of the memory of William being aroused by the waitress at that very dinner…

"I wonder doctor, do you think the detective would mind?" George's question pulled her out of her rumination.

Her eyes catching his, focusing, she asked, "I'm sorry George, mind what?"

George wrinkled a corner of his mouth, causing Julia to nearly chuckle out loud, for she recognized it as William's gesture, and thus she had to entertain the idea that George might be as much, well maybe _almost_ as much, influenced by her husband as she was. "Do you think the detective would mind my playing Watson to his Sherlock… and writing about this adventure…?"

Suddenly George panicked, almost throwing his hand over his mouth to try to stop his words. Perhaps he had just let the cat out of the bag!

"Don't worry constable," Julia reassured, "William has told me about this whole…" she waved her hand through the air, suggesting the plan was big, "…hoboing scheme." Unsure herself at this point whether or not she would take William up on his offer – whether she would actually ask him _not_ to go, she decided to tell the younger man, "I am very glad that you would be with him," she said, her use of the word "would" instead of the word "will" signaling that George's instincts had been right to have some doubts as to whether or not they would be going.

After dinner, William invited George down to his workroom to see what he was working on, not making it clear whether or not he was working on something for tomorrow or not. Unable to tell if Julia would join them, they had at least a few moments alone because Julia was cleaning up behind William's cooking, and rinsing the dishes and filling the dishwashing cupboard.

Not wasting anytime, George asked, "So sir, it is not clear to me whether or not we are going to go tomorrow."

Keeping his voice low, suggesting secrecy, William explained, "Julia was upset… about me being in such extreme danger, and leaving her alone, um, especially now, when she is so close to having the baby."

"When is she due?" George asked, figuring it was soon because Dr. Ogden looked painfully large.

"Not for a month and half, but…" he wrinkled his face, indicating uncertainty, "well, it's complicated George. Let's just say that Julia will be undergoing major surgery in the next month or two, whether that surgery results in our being graced by a living, healthy, child or not… well that is really in God's hands."

George's expression showed that he saw the gravity of the situation. After hesitating and thinking of the possible outcomes that he had never really considered before, one of them that Dr. Ogden herself faced more mortal peril than he had previously thought, George turned back to their plans. "So, we are going to stay…"

"I told Julia that I would leave the decision up to her. We are going to discuss it later tonight… I guess after you have gone," William said.

"I see," George replied. His eyes drifted to the detective's worktable.

Stepping over to the pile of waxy, canvas material on the table, William suggested, "I think we should go ahead with the plans George, and I will let you know, in the morning if I don't know until then, whether or not we are going."

"That makes sense, sir," George said.

William detected an air of disappointment from George. He had to admit, he felt it too, but he was surprised, for what they were going to be doing was going to be dangerous and miserable, basically living homeless and not knowing who among those that they encountered would turn out to mean them harm.

Drawing George's attention to his invention, William said, "You know how most hobos carry their meager belongings around in blanket at the end of a stick, well I thought why not make a sack that you can strap onto your back!"

"That's ingenious, sir," George admired.

"And the material is waterproof, in case it rains, or in our case, snows," William added. "Oh, and George, I got one of these for you too," the detective said, handing George an item that looked like a switchblade. "It was made in Switzerland, the special spring mechanism allows for multiple attachments on opposing sides of the blade. Look, I replaced one of the attachments with a can opener!" William excitedly declared…

…Julia overhearing when she walked down the stairs.

"And look, this one is a little spoon!" he added with a big smile.

"William Murdoch," his wife said, attracting their attention to where she stood at the door, "you are quite the inventor."

"Well, I didn't invent it, I just added some attachments to Engels model," he said, feeling a bit of hope with her reaction.

She remained at the doorway, leaning against the frame. William said, putting much effort into sounding casual, "I thought George and I would proceed as if we would be going tomorrow… um, the worst that happens is we waste a little time if we don't go." He followed the statement with his traditional 'apology' wrinkle at the corner of his mouth.

" _My God, I hope he never figures out much power that adorable look has over me_ ," she thought to herself, pushing away from the doorframe and heading back upstairs, saying, "That sounds reasonable. I have a new journal with an article on the Cesarean section and another on genetics and sex determination – I'll be in the living room."

She didn't see it, but William exhaled out through pursed lips, letting go of some of the pressure he felt. The two men examined the train routes and planned for George to get a carriage and come by to pick up the detective in the early morning. Then they would head over to the bridge over the train tracks, nearby to the detective's church. There was a little twinge of fear, in both men, when they first discussed this location to hop the train, for this was the spot where the detective had been knocked unconscious, fell down onto a coal car and ended up in Bristol England with no memory, ultimately facing his death multiple times – and, according to Toronto newspapers, saving the Queen.

George soon took his leave, both of them still having preparations for the undercover undertaking. They agreed to have George be in charge of the train routes, so he took the maps and schedules back with him in the brown envelope.

William completed his "backsack," and then worked on his hobo clothing. Knowing Julia had gone up to their bedroom after George had left, he felt an urgency to finish up, wanting to be able to have their "discussion," before she fell asleep.

When William got upstairs, he noticed that Julia, fortunately, was still wake. She was in her nightgown, in bed, with the lights still on, reading a novel. She looked up at him and gave him a smile. He changed into his pajamas, gathered up various items, packing most of them into his "backsack" for tomorrow, and then completed his nightly routine in the bathroom, packing up his toothbrush and razor when he was through. Still needing to close the flue in the fireplace and take out the trash and check all the doors and turn out all the lights downstairs, he glanced over, glad to see that Julia's nose remained buried in her book.

A few minutes later, when William slid into the bed behind her, he wore a mischievous smile, although Julia could not take heed from it, for her back was to him and she was still intently reading her novel. His feet were very cold from running around the house barefoot completing his chores. First, sidling up behind her, feeling his body respond to the soft, plushy feel of her curves and her flesh, William then plunged his freezing-cold feet between her luscious, warm calves, evoking a rather large squeal from his wife.

Instantly, she flung herself, rolling over to reach the edge of the bed in an effort to get away from the cold-footed hellion. Turning to face him, precariously dangling right at the edge, she declared, "William Murdoch! Your feet are freezing!"

He inched towards her, threatening to grab her and pull her in, "Julia Ogden, it is your wifely duty to warm your husband's feet," he demanded, the teasing and glee palpable, for he absolutely knew such a demand would garner much protest.

"Oh!" she screeched, placing a hand on her hip and jutting-out her jaw defiantly, in that special way she did that rocked William to the core, "My ' _ **wifely**_ ' duties! I don't think so!" she warned.

William surged towards her, his hands reaching for any part of her that he could grasp, as she slithered in a rush, wobbling as she stretched her legs downward in an effort for her feet to find the floor.

Reminiscent of their horseplay in water at the beach, back before they were married, when they were so in love – _and my God_ , they were _still_ so much in love, William burst forward to capture her just as she screamed out, "Don't you dare William!"

He caught her nightgown and pulled her in. Tugging her close to face him, she was now in his arms, although currently he was sparing her any torturous contact with his icicle-feet. She battled in her mind, working to choose between begging him not to do it, and triggering his guilt, thus manipulating him into not doing it. She chose guilt.

"William, you are endangering your child with these antics," she claimed, reaching back to tend to her hair, trying to sound serious.

His eyebrow arched up, "Oh," he said, "I am doing no such thing."

"You would be stealing heat from _your own_ child… what kind of father would do that?"

He paused, for her argument had only the slightest merit…

"Besides husband," her voice grew sultry, "there is more than one way for a wife to warm her husband – all the way down to his feet."

So quickly, his groin responded to her seduction, as she nuzzled in closer and began to trace a circle around his nipple through his pajama top. William cleared his throat and countered, "Well, I do believe that what you are suggesting tends to concentrate…"

And her hands rubbed hungry over his chest, molding and pushing while threateningly moving lower…

He continued, "…the husband's…" he said, growing dizzy as his body reacted to her hands traveling dangerously lower…

"…the husband's blood, all in one central place," he finally said, now out of breath with lust, having completed the thought before she touched him, with that magical first touch, but dampened for it was with his clothing between them.

Stunned momentarily, he forced himself to go on, with his voice becoming dry, he argued, "Wouldn't that result in less circulation to the husband's feet?"

"Her hand, her fingers firmly, enticingly, stroked his solid need through the thin layer of cozy cloth of his pajama bottoms, while hunting for the convenience flap. Wanting to feel his firmness, his skin, she replied, "Perhaps… at first…" and her husband released the slightest gasp, for she had found the slit in his pajamas, "but the whole encounter would increase circulation rates," she continued as her fingers slid in, made contact, invoking William to sink down heavy into the mattress with the painful relief of her touch, "throughout the entire body, likely warming the man from head…" she paused as his world spun out of control, her lips assertively caressed his ear, sucking it in noisily before she released it to the chilly air and completed her sentence, "to toe."

Covering him, drowning him below, she kissed his ear, his jaw, dwelling on that late-day stubble, his neck. Her breath whispering in his ear she added, "Besides William, this is your last chance to enjoy our toasty bed, and warm home, and your sexy wife, for a while."

Feeling a sense of delay, faltering as he split his attention between thinking and feeling, knowing the words she had just said to him had significance, he forced himself to focus, and when the understanding hit him, his heart sang!

William lifted his head up, his shoulders up, and resting his chin in his hand as he propped an elbow on the bed, he reached over tenderly to cup her cheek with the fingers of his other hand, and turn her face to touch her eyes with his. "Have you decided?" he asked, hope apparent.

She seemed to melt, all resistance dissolving away, blurting out in a rush, "Oh William, you're right. I can't ask you _not_ to go. I just can't. It would be like asking you _not_ to be you. I can't possibly do that. I love that part of you, the part that would suffer, the part that would always be plagued by knowing there was something you could have done in the pursuit of truth in this case, any case, but especially this case where you have so intimately identified… us – with the victims. It would destroy you, would it not? – to know you did not do _**all**_ you could have to convict the man you know in your heart killed Ieva – and then to stop before you could determine what actually happened to Adomas. I know you William. You are relentless in the pursuit of truth. It would cost you, if you didn't try – I know it would. It would risk having you resent me, in the end, and I wouldn't want to have caused you to turn against your very nature…"

It seemed that then Julia took her first breath for eons, and she said, her tone more earnest and intense, "But William Murdoch… you need to promise me that you will do _**everything**_ in your power to come back to me – absolutely everything you can.

He knew it then, was reminded of it really, that she knew him through and through, down to his very core, to the very essence of who he was, and that she loved him, all of him, the real him – and he loved her more than he had ever believed was possible.

"I do, and I will, I promise," William leaned close to her ear with the utterance, ensuring that she _**felt**_ his words more than just hearing them, the warm breeze of his message sinking into her being, to be heard silently by her soul.

Later, when William had time to reflect, he would come to see that there was a part of him, a lesser part, a part that he was not proud of, that had wished Julia had decided to ask him to stay. It would have given him a valid excuse to avoid what he was sure would turn out to be a grueling journey, one full of hardship and fear. It was a wish of one of his lesser angels, and he was ashamed of it. _Perhaps he really did have cold feet_ , he would joke to himself then, _after all_.

But for now, a rumbling had started. Factors were converging, brewing a raging storm… the power of their love stood exposed before them, naked, pure, beautiful… glorious, and with it there was the stark coldness of the reality that exists with it in the world, of cruelty and greed, and, charging the whole cyclonic mix with electrified sparks, was the final, essential, element – _**time**_ , for all of it was both impermanent and never-ending. They had forever, and they had only now…

Suddenly, William's eyes grew dark and hungry, and Julia's breath was taken by the sight, the ozone smell of him penetrating deep into her nostrils as they flared, hunting for a chance to survive the abysmal fall of it. And he pushed her down into the mattress, and he covered her. Urgently she felt him reach down from on top of her, lowering his pajama bottoms.

His chest pressed into hers, so hard, so strong. And she heard his bursts of hot breath pound and rattle over her ear, vibrate into her, shaking her foundation.

"My God I want you so much," he said, seeming to suck her in with his words. "I want to be so close to you, and then closer still, like I'm inside of you Julia,..." he said, his body moving against her, his rhythm luring her, causing her brain to melt into a lusty soup as she felt his fingers impatiently lifting her nightgown, and he pushed her thighs farther apart…

Terrifying, being so dangerously high, her every chance of surviving such exorbitant heights swirled away, for so desperately, so excruciatingly desperately, she wanted the same thing. She anticipated the ecstasy of his closest touch, and she knew the temptation was too strong, her world would explode and implode all at once, gushing juicy heat throughout her whole body, floating her, and sinking her, and soaring her, all at once. Yet, she had to stop him…

The difficulty encountered, Julia finally ending the battle inside of her, she felt tears in her eyes, for it was intolerable, yet she would do it, was doing it – pushing him away. Out of breath – very, very out of breath she said, her voice dry and feathery in its weakness, "William," she had to swallow, "William," she called to the man she loved, "We can't… Saner heads must prevail…" – _and inside of her, somewhere deep, there was a laugh, for she remembered uttering this to him before_.

And then there was a shift, a steadying of the world, and she told him, "You are already inside of me William, deeper than you have ever been… This baby inside of me is part you," she said as her hands held his face and she kissed him again and again, and then explained, "It is why we can't… do this… because you _**have**_ filled me William," she said, now regretting stopping the storm, fluttering kisses over his gorgeous face, loving him, knowing she had pulled them back from the danger. And the tears began to take her as she finished telling him, "You have filled me so completely William… I love you so much."

He could barely withstand it, the surge of his love. _My God_ he loved her with everything he had! He held her in his arms, held on to her tightly, and kissed her, and coaxed her tears away with his tender care. "Shh," he calmed, "You are right Julia. Thank you, thank you. You are right. My God, I love you woman," he said, rocking her, holding her.

The wild, raging thunderstorm had passed… but it took a while for their world to meld and gel with the real one… the strain of the gusting wind they had withstood seeming to have left each hair follicle stiff and upright, defying gravity, and the echo of it still stretching across their tingling skin. Humungous, the dark clouds and lightning and thunder had loomed in the distance, and the gales had swept ominously by, but this time, they had managed to hold back the showers – not a drop.

The couple now accepted Plan C, and made love, more serenely than they usually did, but each feeling the love and the attention of the other, solidly and strongly. Afterwards, they lay together, Julia's head on her husband's chest, and her leg draped over him, placing their baby close and warm and safe, nestled between them. Wallowing a bit longer, Julia traced patterns over his now-naked chest while he twirled and fiddled with her curls.

She asked him, referring to the stimulus of their latest bout of storm fronts and showers, about his cold feet, "William," her voice called his mind away from his contented musings, "Did you have, " _cold-feet_ ," on our wedding day?"

She felt his warm breath as he exhaled before he answered, "No, no… I truly think I had never, ever felt more happiness."

"So not an ounce of doubt?" she pushed.

"I had never been more certain about anything in my life Julia," he replied. He knew, even thought, but did not say, " _Should have married you_ _ **so**_ _much sooner…_ "

Julia shifted over him, crawled up closer, her words tickling across his neck before reaching his ear, "And our wedding _**night**_ … any cold-feet about that?" she asked.

" _There had been_ ," he thought, putting his signature 'admitting it' curl into the corner of his mouth, " _but not until…_ "

William chuckled, the tiny ripples of it vibrating his chest, soaring joy through Julia as she lay over him. "Just a little," he said, "When the Inspector gave me his 'fatherly' advice."

 _Oh, she so wanted to know what_ _ **that**_ _was!_ Her face alight with anticipation, she lifted up to see his chocolaty eyes and asked, "And what advice did the Inspector have… about our, uh…" she lifted an eyebrow as she found the word, "upcoming nuptials?" She was already holding back her giggles.

William wiggled anxiously, remembering the discomfort at the time. A puff of air spilled out of his nostrils and he pushed ahead, "He said I should…"

Julia was losing control, her smile growing exponentially on her face, and with all her might, she stifled a giggle.

It triggered a laugh from William however, who was quickly becoming red-faced, and once he fell, she fell too.

Between his suppressed laughs, he told her that the Inspector had told him to increase his self-confidence by, "convincing myself that every time I imagined doing it, I actually did it," William explained.

"Oh, I see," Julia said. _Oh_ , how she wanted to ask him if he had taken the man's advice, but she decided against it. The first time they had made love had been phenomenal, and the second time was total perfection, and it had remained nearly so almost every day for years now. Whatever he did, it surely worked.

She lay back down, squeezed her husband tight. She knew she had been lucky. Her mind drifted, arriving at his recent description of their lovemaking as being like the weather… And then she remembered his poem, and Ruby reading it aloud to everyone at the shower… And then she remembered Margaret… and then she collapsed into hysterical laughter…

"Julia," William pleaded, wearing a big smile himself, already having succumbed to a contagious giggle or two of his own before she had had a chance to tell him what was so funny, "What is it?" he begged.

Torturously she finally spit it all out. She found it horrendously funny that after their wedding day, after the Inspector had given _her_ husband, William, his advice – on what to do in the bedroom… Well that very same man's wife, Margaret Brackenreid of all people – and although such an amazing thing would never have happened if the woman hadn't drunk herself silly – the fact of the matter was that Margaret Brackenreid had asked _her_ husband, Detective William Murdoch, the most buttoned-down, straight-up man anyone had ever known, she had asked _him_ , to teach the very same man, Inspector Thomas Brackenreid, Margaret's husband, how to do a "warm front!" It was absolutely, intolerably, side-splittingly, funny.

After sharing waves and torrents of laughter, Julia cried out, "I can't stand it anymore! We have to stop!" barreled over with laughter on top of him, holding her very pregnant belly tight, the two of them just loving every minute of it, dying happily together with the hilarious thought.

Eventually, they pulled themselves together, both of them with tears in their eyes and their faces stretching and wiggling trying to remove the creases from laughing so hard, and they caught their breath. And then Julia said, "Well, we'd best take those stitches out, detective," and they got out of bed together, and made the final preparation.

Right before William turned off the light, he set the alarm clock. Julia tried with all her might to fight the thought _– that he would rise to it and leave her_. In the darkness, he felt her holding her breath. His voice, the one voice that struck the ultimate chord inside of her, called to her in the darkness, "Come here," he said. Fighting back tears, she came; she snuggled and settled into her perfect spot on top of him…

 **HOME.**


	11. Chapter 11: The Law of the JungleT

Murdoch in the Jungle_Chapter 10_The Law of the Jungle

 _ **(This was not the first time. It had happened once before, even had been spoken of, thus exposing its presence out in the light of day, back before William and Julia had been married, while William had worked a case and recovered from injuries incurred when he had been beaten with a baseball bat by the O'Shea brothers. Leslie Garland had showed up and threatened Julia in her office at the asylum, unaware that William was present in the room with her).**_

 _ **Leslie pretended to admire her flowers in the center of the room. Not looking directly at her he said, "I've come to deliver some good news – I've been fired… But I suppose you already know that, don't you?" his eyes now honing in on her with his question, revealing their calculated anger.**_

 _ **Sitting up taller in her desk chair, Julia held her ground, "I didn't know what the consequences would be."**_

 _ **Leslie stepped closer, the action intending to intimidate, and said sarcastically, "But I don't imagine you regret doing what you did."**_

" _ **I most certainly do not," Julia replied immediately, firmly.**_

 _ **Leslie fumed as he started his list of complaints, "You've destroyed my good name…"**_

 _ **Defiantly, Julia interrupted, "I think you did that all on your own," her comment locking his jaw and curling his fists.**_

 _ **William, having had enough, for the aggressor was now too viscerally close to his fiancée to be tolerated, stepped out of the shadows in the corner of the room and invaded Leslie Garland's space. "Mr. Garland," his tone commanding, "You'll be leaving Doctor Ogden's office now…" he said, advancing forward, his chest puffed out, his dominance backing Leslie into submission, forcing the man to stammer into the table, wobbling and rattling the vase of flowers as a result. Her defender stared fiercely into Garland's eyes and said, "And if you ever come back, I will take this badge off and I will deal with you."**_

 _ **Jumping to appease the protector's onslaught, Leslie declared, "Detective, I was simply explaining…"**_

 _ **Still marching into him, already so close to Garland that the man could feel his breath, his voice dangerously low, magnifying their physical closeness, William quietly roared his question, the warning obliterating Garland's nerve, "Did you**_ not _ **hear me?" he asked, tearing the would-be adversary into shreds.**_

 _ **Concern trembled across Garland's face, and his retreat became more hurried, as he seemed unable to answer, stumbling his back into the doorframe, having missed the open exit…**_

" _ **Goodbye, Mr. Garland," William demanded, blowing the man out of her office with his ferocious gale. Successful, he took a deep breath and turned back to face her.**_

 _ **Enthralled, feeling aroused and titillated by this side of the man she loved, Julia stood and approached her champion. "William!" she exclaimed with a slight giggle and shake of her head, showing her bewilderment, "I must say, that was most surprising…" Flirtatiously, her fingers stroked his tie, tingling him to his core, "And more than a little impressive," she added.**_

 _ **His recent confrontations with the dangerous and brutal underworld of the docks had forced an adjustment in him, a shuffling, and ultimately an incorporation of new beliefs into his world order. This profound change in his psyche was revealed when he replied to her admiration, explaining his behavior to her by saying that, "Sometimes one must employ**_ _ **the law of the jungle**_ _ **."**_

 _ **True, his making of this statement had resulted in a shared fall into laughter, for such a statement was quite uncharacteristic of the William that they both knew. But, even though their colluded reaction of surprise and merriment with the discovery of his newfound awareness had served to release some of the pressure its presence had caused, it was clear that a deep and important shift had occurred within him. That was the first time.**_

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Although it was not uncommon for William and Julia to fall asleep in each other's arms, they rarely woke up that way. Invariably, one or both of them would waken in the middle of the night and change positions. Thus, William was surprised to wake up and find they were tangled together, Julia's head still on his chest and her pregnant belly and thigh draped over him. Relieved that he had managed to wake up before the sunrise, for he needed to leave early today, he was glad that he would be able to turn off the alarm clock before it rang and woke Julia up as well. He took a deep breath, preparing to find a way to move without waking her, but also because he felt a heavy tug at his heart. He would be doing the one thing that caused her the most stress – going undercover, and all the evidence told him that she was having a particularly hard time dealing with his absence, and his being in potential danger, when they were this near to her due date – now little more than six weeks away.

Deciding there was no guaranteed way to rise without stirring her, he chose to try to slip out from under her, towards his side of the bed. Before he had even moved an inch, merely tightening his muscles to begin his departure, he felt her arm and her leg clamp tighter around him. A complaining groan broke the silence in the darkness. Clearly, she did not want to let him go.

Compassion flooded his heart, rendering the tenderness in his voice as he said, "Julia, I have to go," the words resonating deeply inside both of them, vibrating destiny's tuning fork, reminiscent of the words' portence so many years before, when their utterance had been accompanied by his tear-filled eyes, the last time their eyes touched before she left him for Buffalo. Her response to their utterance now was to hold on to him with even more force. Yes, this was going to be very difficult indeed. Rather than fight against it, he yielded, rolling even closer to her and wrapping her securely in his arms. His next deep breath guided her familiar scent deeply down into him, registering somehow in his soul. It was inescapable – he loved her more than life itself, and she him. And yet, he knew he would do it. He knew that she knew as well. He would go.

He rolled even further over, pushing her onto her side, opening a path behind him to ultimately move away, while moving closer to her. He pushed further, rolling her onto her back, and found himself becoming aroused as she lie so weak and soft underneath him. Instincts took over as warmth filled his chest, and his groin.

His demanding breathing rattled against her ear, as the morning stubble on his cheek scratched tantalizingly across her jaw and her cheek, and his fingers found her face, grasped it, locking it in place, before his lips took hers passionately. Her moan lured him towards his lustful horizons, deepening his kiss. Ultimately, he would taste all of her, touch all of her, bask in each moan … in each cry, swim in each distinctive odor, his senses seemingly heightened by the peril he faced, by the unconscious awareness that it may be the last time. Then she would return the favor, driving him over the edge of ecstasy as well.

Afterwards, they lie together, fulfilled, waiting for their bliss and reality to merge. The alarm would sound soon, the pre-dawn light now kissing the room, so he told her again, that he needed to go.

Wanting to feel his heart beating against her a while longer, knowing she would miss his smell, and his voice, and the feeling of his breath on her, she asked, urged, "Not until the alarm … at least not till then." Only a few moments later, the bell tolled and he reached over to quiet its dreaded proclamation. His deep breath announced the immanence of it, his leaving. With a gentle kiss to her hair, breathing her deeply in one final time, he rose, dressed and left, without a word, without a promise to be careful, knowing such words would not suffice to comfort her, knowing she had accepted the pain and the worry as inevitable and unavoidable.

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He quietly closed their front door against the bitter cold and ripping wind. Hearing the crunching of his own footsteps in the newly fallen snow, he reached up to nurture the ache in his shoulder. Now heading back into danger on the same case, the memory of the pain, both physical and emotional, from when he had hung on the meat-hook between two pig carcasses, now just a week ago, driving him to coach himself to be alert. He waited on the sidewalk at the end of their path. " _Don't look back_ ," he told himself, hoping to avoid the worry, and the guilt. He envisioned how beautiful their new home, wrapped in Christmas decorations, would look softly cloaked in the clean, white snow. Instead, he peered down the street, " _Concentrate on the task at hand,_ " his own voice advised as he looked for the horse and carriage, squinting into the low morning sun.

The cab pulled up. He greeted George as he stepped in, taking a seat next to the constable. "You look wonderful sir," George declared, "Very convincing."

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Julia dropped the curtain back down to rest over the window, now quite a while after his cab had pulled out of sight. She looked to the bed in their guest bedroom, the one in which her sister had recently stayed, in the room she had rushed to, hoping to get a final glimpse of William before he left her, possibly forever. " _My God, I miss Ruby too,_ " she thought. The emptiness, the loneliness, felt markedly worse than she had expected. She reminded herself that Isaac would be coming over to check on her later. She would be grateful for the distraction. Subconsciously her hand covered her belly as she reminded herself that she was not alone. "What shall we do till Isaac gets here, hmm, little one?" she asked out loud. " _Breakfast,_ " was the answer that came. Happily, she found herself excited about the idea, "Some bacon and French toast, I think."

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"Do you think so George?" the detective asked. "It was a challenge finding these old, tattered clothes, particularly the coat – I purchased it from the charity drive at my church. I actually had to tear them apart and soil them in the boiler room to get the look," he added.

"As did I sir! But I didn't think of the boiler room… I actually used the back area by the garbage cans," the constable explained.

"That explains the rather realistic and pungent odor," the detective declared with a smile, "Actually, it helps complete the whole _**hobo**_ ensemble, George."

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Although the younger man had a nearly ten year-advantage over him, William was the one who first arrived within reach of the open-door and thus, had to heave, with much more effort than he had imagined it would take, he had to heave himself up into the opened doorway of the moving train car. He rushed to turn back around and reach out to help George, extending his hand backwards, out into the ripping wind. "Come on George! Give it all you've got," he encouraged.

Contact between their hands with a " _ **slap**_!" And huge grunts! And then George was aboard too.

"Thank you sir," George yelled unable to breathe, and too loudly, for he had not yet adjusted, and he was finding the world around him oddly disorienting and dizzying from the exertion, or possibly the effect was a result of his trying to align the speed of motion he was currently carrying in the moving car, which felt strangely still, with the reality that he was actually still hurling through space. He reached up to cup his ears, the pain from the freezing of the wind registering as a burn.

William, less winded, perused the empty train car, answering, "The snow made it harder," receiving hearty nods from George in response.

Soon discovering it was particularly cold in the empty car, and hoping to find people who might have known Adomas Baltavesky, they moved backwards from car to car along the moving train, eventually arriving at a car that was occupied by a few other men. This car was also empty of any freight, but it was significantly warmer. William quickly assessed that it was an empty refrigerated car, and so it was insulated. Being wintertime, there would not have been much need to load ice in the compartment he was eyeing up in the roof of the car, because the frozen meat that would have been stored inside would stay cold simply because of the cold temperatures outside matching with those inside. But with three men in it, and now five, their body heat was helping raise the inside temperature, and the insulation, which was designed to keep the cold in, was actually keeping their heat in too.

None of the other men looked up at them, let alone spoke. Each one seemed to be, 'alone.' Deciding that questioning hobos about their victim was the whole reason they had come here, William decided to venture over and strike up a conversation. He introduced himself, using the name Henry Codrum, which he had previously thought up based on his middle name and reversing the sounds of his last name. Then, unfortunately realizing that he had not discussed with George the name George had chosen to use, _**after**_ he had started to introduce him, he paused after saying, "And this is George…"

Quick on his feet, acting like he'd had the name his entire life, George completed his sentence, "Flowers – George Flowers, nice to meet you." He held out his right hand for a handshake…

Surprisingly sending a sudden chill down William's spine as he had a flash of memory of Julia showing him the "handshake method," of killing someone. He calmed himself, asserting that the odds of the very first man they encountered being Adomas' American-spy killer, _**and**_ that this killer would also know who _**they**_ really were and that they were searching for him, were far too unlikely to worry about.

None of the men seated in the train car offered to respond. _How could it be that they were being so shunned?_ William wondered if the men could already tell that they were not really hobos, the thought worrying him. " _Perhaps hobos are generally just that unfriendly to each other_ ," he suggested to himself, fighting the instinct to wrinkle his face with his doubt.

One of the men said, without looking up at them, "You fellas 'grabbin' scenery?"

William and George looked at each other, clearly neither of them had a clue. William's mind raced! " _You look at the scenery if you're a tourist, mostly,"_ he thought, " _probably a hobo slang term for being inexperienced at hoboing,_ " he figured.

Hurrying to answer, William said, "We haven't been at it long, no. Had some hard times is all."

Following the detective's lead, George nodded in agreement, "That's right, sir," he added, "Could happen to anyone, especially in times like these."

The man who had spoken finally lifted his head, looking fierce-eyed at George. The man's ice-blue eyes were striking. "You call him, "sir?" he questioned, suspiciously.

Panic pumped through William's heart! Watching on, he marveled at George, who replied instantly, and confidently.

George turned, looked at William, and said, "Never called him anything but. You can't tell by looking at him, but this man here is brilliant… Invents things… Figures things out… Sir, show 'em your 'backsack!"

Growing uncomfortable with the praise, William blushed slightly. "It's nothing George. They won't care about that," he offered.

"Well then I'll show 'em the knife you made for me," George replied, expertly drawing attention away from their questionable identities and onto the item in his pocket. George pulled out the folded up knife and started by opening the spoon attachment.

All three of the men seated on the floor were now looking up, interested. " _George had gotten them!"_ William could see it, the men trusted them now, at least, much more than at first.

One of the other men offered to buy the knife from George, but he declined. They were invited to sit, and although the conversation wasn't lively, they were talking, and eventually William told them that one of the things they hoped to do was find a friend. He showed the men Adomas' picture (the one Ieva had had in her room), but none of them had seen him. They suggested that they try the next car back. There were a couple of guys in there, and maybe one of them had seen their man.

There were two men seemingly sleeping in the next car. Just like the other men, these two also did not seem to be traveling together, each in opposing corners at the far end of the car. Quickly getting the idea that these hobo-types were slow to warm-up to new people, William and George shared a look, signaling to each other that they thought it best to stay at their end of the car for now. The two of them sat, together, on the floor. Not much to do now, they settled down, each following their own trains of thought.

After a while, George stood up, wanting to stretch his legs. William joined him and they ventured out through the front of the car, into the cold, sunny daylight. It was noisy standing on the tiny platform between train cars, but they still tried to talk in shouted whispers, hoping not to be overheard.

"Do you think we should go ahead and introduce ourselves when we go back in?" George asked the detective.

"No, not yet. Too obvious," William suggested, receiving a nod. They both stared out into the landscape – it was rustic, quite beautiful. William tried a joke, "It seems we are, "catching scenery" after all," he said.

Giving him a little chuckle, mostly to be polite, George answered, "You are right about that sir." He took a deep breath, taking in the country scent. "I think, though, that they said, " _grabbing_ scenery," if I remember it right," George corrected.

 _William was impressed. It was usually him who surprised people with his phenomenal ability to remember such details_. "I believe you are right, constab…" – William stopped himself from referring to George the way he was accustomed to, it would most definitely give them away if he did not break that habit and quick. "…George," he finished with a smile.

Returning their eyes to the view, William admired the way the ripples in the lake caught and flashed the light. _Then, all of a sudden, he had an awful thought_!

His tone a blend of alert, and scolding, and regret, "William said, "George… shouldn't the lake be on the other side?"

It should have been! As they traveled westward to Winnipeg, Lake Huron should have been on their left – to the south, but it was on their right, to the north. They must have hopped the wrong train! They weren't going to Winnipeg anymore! Nope! They were in the USA! And this was not good.

Discussing it at length, they finally accepted their fate, William reasoning that it might be of use to be asking after Adomas in America anyway, for the man had been killed with a method used by American spies. They headed back into their train car.

A hobo who had not previously been in the car was now sitting in a corner right near the door when they came in. The man looked up at them briefly, then shifted his bindle and looked back down at the floor. William and George sat in the opposite corner, now all four corners of the train car occupied. Briefly, they talked, nearly in whispers, about how long it would likely be until they got to various towns they thought to be on their route. But soon, they grew quiet, and turned inward. " _Colder in this car. Not insulated,_ " William began his train of thought.

After a few hours, George noticed he was getting hungry. He had packed a few carrots and some bread, and even some cheese. Figuring that the rations would really only last their first day, he had brought enough to share. He looked over at the detective, expecting to find him sleeping, thinking he would offer him some of his delicacies, and found instead that his companion was deep in thought, his eyes down on a photograph in his lap – of Dr. Ogden.

George leaned over slightly, and studied the picture, being taken by the romantic undertones of the detective's state even more so upon really looking at it. It was of Dr. Ogden, and of course, she looked exceedingly pretty in the pose. " _Rather large photograph,_ " he thought, the photograph appearing to be about 5" by 8" inches in dimension. It would nearly fill a pocket, and, especially considering their circumstances, for they each only had one bag – in the detective's case it was his ingenious 'backsack,' – and whatever pockets they each had. He noticed that the good doctor looked to be a bit younger… _The picture must be somewhat old_ … Suddenly, George recognized the photograph! It was _really_ old, from an old case! The detective had needed a fake photograph, of a woman, to use to trick suspects – " _Oh yeah_ ," he thought to himself, " _suspects from the theater_ ," the detective had used the fake photo as a ploy to trick the stage actors, all suspects, into giving him their fingermarks. They would hold the picture when he asked them if they had ever seen the woman in the photo, claiming she was his main suspect… " _That very same photo in the detective's lap now, of Dr. Ogden"_ – and then after the suspect had touched it, they would have left their marks on it. " _He must have kept her picture all these years,"_ George realized.

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" _Not even Plan C!"_ Julia thought to herself as she walked away from their front door, having just said good-bye to Isaac, the doctor overseeing her pregnancy, the man who would be preforming the surgery for her Cesarean section, and one of her very best friends in the world. Her mind dwelled on Isaac's visit, and its results, while she cleaned up. " _Maybe it's a good thing that William is away on this… undercover escapade… after all_ ," she continued her musings, " _It will certainly be easier to abstain if we aren't together._ "

After completing her tasks, she sat on the couch in the living room, and read, tucked under a blanket, already missing William's fires – " _in more ways than one_ ," she giggled to herself. She was feeling the new challenge of following another of Isaac's instructions, to hold back on the alcohol. Admitting that his concerns made sense, that research showed that alcohol lowers the heart rate, and thus her drinking spirits might result in a lower metabolism and growth rate for their child, she steeled her resolve, sipping on her tea. She sighed, " _No William, no work, no sex, and no alcohol,_ " she pondered, " _What else is there?!"_

Taking up her newest medical journal, reminding herself how exciting she had found the paper on gender and genetics to be, she tried to cheer herself up, " _Well, Isaac said to cut back on the alcohol, not that I shouldn't have_ _ **any**_ _– and…_ " and with the thought her eyes dropped down to her belly, her hand rubbing the little life inside through the blanket and her clothing and her body tissues, and she smiled, "And, don't worry," she said aloud, "Our life is absolute magic, because of you little one."

While she drifted deeper into her reading, she fondled the locket around her neck. It was the one that she had recently shown William, like Ieva's locket in many ways. It was the one that had become magnetized when she and William had hugged good-bye in the carriage, when she was leaving him for Buffalo. Inside, it held their photographs, face to face, now clicked closed, lying nested close together, almost as if locked in a kiss. William had been so touched when he discovered the locket – it reminding him of even another way that their relationship paralleled that of Adomas and Ieva. He had seemed especially taken by her choice of this picture of him, having had cut it out from a newspaper after he had returned from Bristol, the article sending the detective accolades for having had saved the Queen. Having had put the locket together after he had come back from being missing and presumed dead, after over a month, after she had been so very, very devastated by her fears that he had been killed, and after she knew from the experience that, really, she couldn't live her life, or at least she couldn't be truly happy, if she weren't with him. She wore it now in the hope that he would come back to her this time as well.

Having completely devoured every detail of the article on transverse Cesarean sections, she had moved on to the second article she had been intrigued by, the one on finding a part of an individual's genes that determines one's sex. Losing focus, her mind drifted while reading. The train of thought began with a specific memory, of the look of utter shock on William's face when he slowly, then suddenly, understood that the mustached man standing in front of him in the Gentlemen's Club was actually _**HER**_ , prompting Julia to giggle out loud to herself. No longer reading the words, she rode the thought, it taking her first backwards to when she invited the detective, the Inspector, and Constable Crabtree to her morgue to see something important about the victim who had been poisoned in the Masonic Lodge. Before she had even had a chance to pull down the sheet covering the body, she saw them grasp the surprise she had warned them about, clearly identifying the two bumps on the victim's chest as breasts, thus seeing that the physical evidence made it clear – _he_ was a _she_.

Oh how she had enjoyed the men's' perplexion over it all. " _Ironic_ ," she thought to herself after her reading, " _females having two X gene parts while males have only one - somewhat akin to the number of… bumps each sex has_ ," on the two different types of bodies. Her mind threatened to run away with how much she liked William's one bump, although she had quickly pulled herself out of the spicy, randy imaginings.

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The newer arrival, the man across from them in the train car, commented out of the blue from across the way, "The way you look at that picture, that way you are mesmerized by that one particular 'bale of straw,' – I knew a fella like that… You Catholic too?"

"I am," William responded, looking the man in the eye, secretly grateful to be back on the case.

"I heard a little accent, when you two were talking earlier. This guy was Lithuanian… not you though?" he asked.

Knowing it was ultimately safest to keep one's lies as close as possible to the truth, and deciding it was best to keep it simple, William answered, "No, Canadian."

The man raised an eyebrow, "Oh, a lumberjack then," he concluded.

Wondering how the man knew such a detail, then concluding that the man must believe most Canadians worked as lumberjacks, William responded, "I was… um, a long time ago."

William's confusion gave him away, now the man knowing that he, and probably the one with him as well, did not know the common hobo terminology, he clarified, "No, I mean, you come from Canada, that's how the term is used here on the trains. Now, if you really were a lumberjack, then I'd call you, "Peasoup."

"Oh," William replied. Unconsciously, his mouth wrinkled at a corner, and he thought, " _Have to admit – we did eat a lot of pea soup in the lumber camps._ " His instincts told him it was safe to soften his defenses with this man. He liked him.

The man continued, "Seems men that end up here because of a woman…" his eyes dropped to the photograph of Julia in William's lap, "…have it the worst." He went on, telling them a long, painful story. "Another Lithuanian guy – a fella named Jurgis, well he lost his wife – and this guy loved her somethin' special – she died after a nasty bank scheme, and cause of the abusive meat industry too, well these damn capitalist types took everything from him, left him penniless, broken down in body and spirit, wouldna give him a job and he was never gonna get one, homeless and with a pregnant wife and a young son… And then the man's wife died in childbirth, he comes home to find her dead with the baby breach, dead inside of her… And he hadn't a been there for her, cause he'd been out drinkin' the rest of their money…"

The storyteller paused and shook his head before he went on, "Things had gotten so bad, and he had just found out, that his wife, the woman he loved so much he would have cut off his arm for her, well she had sold her body months ago… for a bunch of chickens cause they were starving, and the baby that killed her might not of even been his… And then this fella's young son drowns in a flooded street – You believe that, conditions in the Chicago stockyards are so bad a kid can _drown_ in the _street_!? Well, this guy, Jurgis, he completely lost it – ended up here on the trains. For years he's still hoboing, lonely, broken, had no chance, really, cause he got blacklisted during the strike, by those three toffs, you know 'em, Armour, Durham and Brown?"

William nodded. The man looked over at George, but must have decided not to explain, and went on, "I tell you now, if you got anything to do with any unions, you best keep it to yourself. For him it meant that the police got involved – the crooked ones, the bulls working for toffs running the show, and them coppers and government officials, and them meat guys are all thick as thieves, you see. Best I know, Jurgis is still in jail, waiting to be hung for doing nothing."

He paused in his long story, his eyes glancing back and forth between William and George. He seemed to be checking, peering deeply inside of each man, almost as if he was testing their very humanity with his gaze. William was relieved, somehow knowing that he and George had passed the test, particularly once the man took a deep breath and continued. Further, with the case in mind, it had not escaped William's notice that there was a possibility that this man knew Adomas. He spoke of a Catholic man, a Lithuanian, and a man who spent a lot of his time looking at a photograph of a woman… All things also true for their victim!

The man broke William's thoughts, starting again, "Now the first guy I was telling you two about… My name is Sin, by the way…"

"Henry," William said with a nod.

"I'm George," George added.

Sin went back to his next story, "Well, that first guy I was telling you about spent every waking hour gazing at his wife's picture, he was Lithuanian too, and Catholic, like you Henry… And you know, he wore a wedding ring. It's so out of the ordinary, when a man wears a ring – you and Adomas the only ones I've ever seen…"

Both William and George bolted upright with a twitch with the mentioning of _Adomas'_ name! William quickly grabbed at his ring finger, hoping to get Sin's attention on it instead of noticing their reactions. "I've known one or two…" William said as quickly as possible. He looked to George, his eyes holding to George's, centering him, "I mean, besides me. James Pendrick did," he said.

Nodding, "You're right sir, he did," George said, instantly regretting once again calling the detective "sir."

Sin took a breath, preparing, it seemed, to ask why George would call Henry "sir…"

"And there was that young business man wore a ring – that's how the Constabulary fellas caught wind of his scheme in the end," William said stopping Sin from asking. He nodded slightly at George, "You remember, he and his wife almost got away with quite a scam, pretended the man she had killed in one of her delusionary moments was her husband… but actually he was the husband's rich business partner…. That's the very day I was thinking of just now," William said, glancing down at Julia's picture, "the day myself and the doctor, uh, well and you were there too George, when we saw their plot get foiled."

There was a spark of recognition in George's eyes. He had remembered. It was actually the detective's wedding day of all things. The detective and the good doctor had almost run out of the church to catch the murderers _before they took their vows_. George looked down at the detective's ring, remembering how he, himself, had almost lost its mate, the one on Dr. Ogden's finger, back on that special day.

They both looked back at Sin, ready for him to continue his story. In their chests however, their hearts were still flying. They had found someone who knew Adomas! Listening, calming themselves, they would wait to ask the questions pertinent to the case as the opportunities arose.

Sin went back to his tale, "Now this man's wife was alive, but he was hurt'in bad, so desperate for money I think he'd a done anything. His little son was sick and he needed money bad."

William asked, "Any chance this man… Adomas, you said?"

Sin nodded, but now the two undercover hobos were in control of their reactions.

"Any chance he was from Toronto?" William asked.

Taking the opportunity to teach them more about being hobos, Sin interrupted, "Now see, here you'd say you're from "Hogtown."

George added, "We say that too – in Toronto… sometimes."

They told Sin that they had a friend from Hogtown, who had that same name - Adomas…

"Adomas isn't the most common of names, I'll give you that," Sin replied. "You know, believe it or not his wife was named…"

"Ieva," William rushed to answer before he could say it, "like Adam and Eve," the detective in him figuring that showing Sin how familiar he and George were with Adomas would make their "looking for their friend" story more convincing. It would help the man trust them.

"Yes, yes. Adam and Eve," Sin said, nodding his head with a smile. It seemed he loved the ironies and intricacies one finds in life. He looked once again at William's photograph of Julia in his lap and shared his musing, "It appeared to me they must of loved each other – that way – too."

All eyes now down on the picture, William took a deep breath and said, "We're looking for him with word – his son died and his wife needs him." Finding he did not have to pretend or act in order to be convincing, for he felt the familiar ache in his heart, William looked up at Sin, caught and held his eyes and asked, "Can you help us find him?"

Sin cleared his throat. There was a quick frown, before he shifted his weight to get up off of the floor.

" _Oh, that did it – too much – we've lost him!_ " William thought with a panic, believing Sin was preparing to leave.

The tiniest smile poked up at the corners of William's mouth however, when instead, Sin came and sat down next to George. He spoke quietly, plainly not wanting to be overheard. "I connected him with a cop – we'd say "bull," in Chicago – got him a job with Armour. Ain't seen him since." Sin pulled a small book out of his bindle, and opened it, revealing that he had been taking extensive notes.

Right away George thought it looked like the kind of notes he takes when he's researching an idea for a book. Right now in his bindle, actually George's "bindle" was more like a stickless bindle, having just his pillow and belongings rolled up in a blanket, but in George's bindle he had a similar book, although his was still mostly lacking in pen strokes at this stage.

Finding the right page in, what William had figured, was probably a journal, for he, himself, wrote in one from time to time, Sin found where he had written about Adomas. "In Chicago, I brought him to a bull I know. This fella eats high on the hog from getting folks jobs. Adomas had some money. He spent every cent of it though, getting a job. He wanted a particular job, I remember, was willing to pay much more than what it usually costs to get it…"

George leaned in, "What did Adomas want to do?" he asked.

William added, his mind flying ahead of his ability to truly grasp yet all it was figuring out, "He had experience with the meat industry, worked as an icer," the words came out of William's mouth feeling as if his vocal chords were played, by not by his own brain, but by the words of the witness who had told him about finding Adomas' body on the train at Burns' meatpacking plant.

Images rolled out in front of William, flickering as if charged by lightening. " _Adomas had been the one,_ " the thought sending such a surge of energy in his gut, " _He was the one, getting paid to remove the ice from the roofs of the refrigerated train cars – to spoil the meat – and then to make sure the car got enough ice at the end of the trip to feel cold when it was unpacked at the end of the line. Adomas wasn't_ _ **spying**_ _on Davies for Burns– he was_ _ **working**_ _for Davies, he was sabotaging the meat!"_

George knew this look he now saw on the detective's face. He was figuring out something important about the case. He felt it in his bones, they were getting close!

Sin answered, "Henry got it. Adomas wanted a job icing the trains. That's a good paying job."

George took the ball, knowing that the detective was still off wherever he goes when he has one of his epiphanies. "You say it cost a man a lot of money to get these jobs?" he asked, delaying.

"Yeah, yeah, the system will drain you of everything you got. He needed to pay the bull, and then he needed to pay the guy the bull knew at Armour's…" Sin paused to search his notes. Leaning over, George could see that Sin had names and amounts – quite detailed notes indeed.

"And how did a guy like Adomas get all that money… to pay these guys, you think?" George asked, delaying even further.

Sin considered for a moment. "Well, he said he had gotten a big job when in Toronto… I guess that's where he got the money," he replied.

He went back to his book, the detective's eyes focusing on it as he leaned in closer to join them. " _He's back_ ," George thought to himself, feeling a twinge of relief.

Sin proceeded to read out the names of both the cop and the connection at Armour's meatpacking facility whom Adomas had used to get his job at Armour's business as an icer. He had even shared the amount of the payoffs Adomas had given the two men.

"You know," Sin said, changing the subject, "Adomas wouldn't have been able to get that job, even if he did have enough money. You gotta be big and strong, and quick on your feet too, to do that job. Adomas had that going for him… handsome as hell too. Now, that ain't _always_ an advantage out here, if you run into the wrong men anyway." His tone was ominous, and he almost winked at William.

William and George should have been paying better attention with that warning, but their minds were already overloaded, each brainstorming in their heads about the case, and working to keep up their deception believably, and even starting to wonder how one keeps from freezing to death, or starving, or even dying of thirst out here.

It turns out this man would help them with all of these things. He agreed to take them right to the bull who had gotten Adomas the job in Chicago, if they'd just entertain him with their own stories… tell him how they each got so down on their luck that they ended up here. But, they would need money – to pay off Binsley and O'Dwyer.

William had plenty of money hidden away in secret compartments here and there. He reassured Sin that money would be no problem.

George found the deal very intriguing. "Can I ask you Sin, are you a writer?" George said, suddenly worrying that his question would be too intrusive. He decided to be self-disclosing, "You see, I consider myself a bit of a writer… And your notes and your interest in people's stories, um, well…"

"Yes, George," Sin responded, "I fancy myself as one too."

It took all the self-control George had not to brag about his books. He felt the detective's eyes burning into him with warning. George smiled, "Nice to meet a fellow writer then," he said.

William cleared his throat, pulling everyone's focus to him. "We'd be glad to tell you our stories," he said. William went first, but he knew his story needed to be believable, and it needed to be heartbreaking in order for to explain why he would end up hoboing… And Sin had already seen him, lovesick for Julia – entranced with her picture…

So that is how it came to be that William told them his story. He spoke of finding the woman he had always known was out there for him, describing falling so hard for her that he was certain he would never feel the ground under his feet again.

"Now that's the 'bale of straw?" Sin asked.

"Bale of straw?" William questioned.

"Sorry, the blond… in the photograph," Sin explained, "the beauty you been staring at."

It was George who answered him, "Yeah, he's loved that woman ever since I've known him… Not a day has gone by, I'm sure, where Henry here hasn't thought about her."

William told them that his world had been shattered when she told him she was leaving him, and with much insistence, she told him why. "You see," he said, the lump in his throat drying his voice, "she wasn't leaving because she didn't love me, she was leaving me because she did." He saw the confusion in their eyes, using it to deepen their empathy he explained, "She had come to see that I wanted to be a father, and she had known from the beginning, from our beginning, that she was sterile, and so she had concluded that she would not be able to make me happy, and so she left me so I could find another – who could."

Sin spoke up, "But you clearly loved her and only her, still to this day you look at her picture. Why did you let her go?"

William sighed, and regret dimmed his eyes. Shaking his head, fighting the pain he was re-feeling, he explained, "I've never been quick at figuring out what I feel," he said, looking up, catching the man's heart with his despair. He went on, "I did chase her, though, the next morning, but I missed her train, was too late, considered proposing in a telegram, decided against it. Then I went to her…" William looked at George, knew he'd make the connection when he said, "…in Buffalo. But, before I could tell her that I loved her, and I wanted to be with her more than I wanted to breathe, well, before I could tell her, she told me she was marrying another."

Both men gasped. William needed to swallow, he'd become choked up.

He took a deep breath, recuperated some, and went on. "The man she married, the man who wasn't me, well, he didn't want any children, didn't like children," he said, most of the emotion gone out of him now, "the really sad part still hadn't even happened yet, because it was on the day she married this other man that I found out that she still loved me – I had doubted it because he was so… well, he was a toff, like her, and of course, I wasn't – but her note said that if I still loved her, as she still loved me, then I should stop her wedding…"

"Why didn't you?" George asked, sincerely, knowing the significance of the question.

William reached up and rubbed his forehead, wanting to ease the pressure. He exhaled, long and deep. Here, right here and right now, he would add another person, George, to the list of people who would know that he had broken the law. He wrinkled a corner of his mouth and admitted, "I couldn't, um…" he took another deep breath, exhaled strongly once more, "I only had one chance… life gave me just one chance to fix a mistake I had made, the biggest mistake I had made in my life, and life gave me that chance then, at that moment, that morning, because of her wedding, I had the chance, because of the distraction her wedding to this other man would cause, I had the one and only chance I would ever have to right my biggest wrong. I had committed a crime, and an innocent woman was going to be hung for it, and, well this was the chance I had, to break her out of jail. And so I let the woman I loved, will always love till the day I die, I let her marry another, and I got this innocent woman, who was set to hang for my crime… I set her free."

"And the wedding? She married the other guy?" Sin hurried to ask.

William nodded, but it was George who answered, "I remember that day. I think I even remember the note from her, to you… I think I was the one who…"

William nodded his head, and wrinkled a corner of his mouth – and it that seemed all the air went out of George, only to be replaced by a hot, burning pain.

Taking a deep breath, William allowed the air to intensify the glow of the embers of ache in his heart, and went on… because now he would embellish, and a tale that twisted and turned in real life, leading to profound happiness, would be told as a heart-wrenching tragedy instead. "Now, she is married to this other man, not me, even though it was me whom she loved, so I could have children with someone else, and she doesn't know how much I love her, that she was the only one for me, and that without her I would have to live my life on my own, unloved, lonely. And even worse is that she doesn't know how I feel about her. She thinks I didn't stop her wedding because I didn't love her, and I can't tell her I set the woman free because, well… I could go to jail, and besides, by then she was already married, and there's nothing either of us could do, so I never told her how much I still love her… And then…" William said, finding that just imagining it, realizing that he had imagined it when Julia was married to Darcy, just this thought, could wrench him down to his bones. He shook his head, his eyes down on her picture, tears in his eyes, and said, "And this really just ended me, then she gets pregnant…with this other man's child."

With heartfelt compassion, Sin responded, "That's devastating."

George reached over to his friend, took a hold of his shoulder and said, "Henry, I'm sorry. I didn't know," his use of William's fake name solidifying the ground under them, bringing them back to, centering them in, the here and now.

William cleared his throat, swallowed and replied, "I know George, I never told anybody."

The men sat quietly for a moment, thoughts swirling in their heads, emotions sinking into their deeper selves. Finally, Sin broke the quiet.

But… you married I see?" Sin asked, looking at the wedding band on William's finger.

William hesitated, he needed to think, twirling and fiddling with the ring, then answered, "Well, before this woman I loved…" He dropped his eyes down to Julia's photo, still in his lap, "This bale of straw," he added, the tiniest of smiles creeping on his face as he remembered Julia's curly, exquisite hair, almost felt one of the course ringlets between his fingers. He sighed, and continued, "She, uh… well before I found out she was engaged to this upstanding, wealthy, successful… other man, actually, the morning she got on the train to leave Toro… Hogtown, to leave me, because she thought I couldn't love her," William swallowed, pushing down the pain associated with the memory of seeing the train, its red caboose, pulling away from the station that day, "because, now I knew she was sterile…"

"And the real agony here is of course, that she wasn't sterile like she thought she was. I mean she broke your heart, and her heart, all for a mistake… My God it is truly heartbreaking," George said, seemingly enthralled, "And you both could have had the life you… I mean you could have been together _**AND**_ you could have been a father." George's eyes filled with tears with these words, for he had never seen it so clearly, the true wonder and amazement of what these two had together… Joy seeped so deeply into him, for he knew this man's happiness, this man in front of him whom he loved so… the newfound awareness bringing him absolute joy.

Sin was also intrigued, urging Henry to get back to his story, "Well… the ring?" he said, his eyes dropping to William's left hand.

"Yes, well, I had an emergency to deal with at work, the day she told me that the reason she was leaving me was because she knew how much I wanted to be a father and she was sterile. And because of that emergency, I couldn't buy her ring until the next morning, but I did – and along with it, I bought us both wedding bands… And I rushed to catch her at her train to Buffalo… And I just missed it, saw the red caboose pulling out of sight around the bend, and I just stood there fighting with every muscle, every breath, not to collapse down onto my knees right there on the train platform, and I watched until I could no longer see the trail of smoke.

George had his hand over his mouth, amazed, absolutely amazed… For he knew every word of this story was true, well almost every word, and he'd never really known, and now he did, and he felt a lump in his throat, and his eyes were welled up…

Sin asked, "So… you wear a wedding ring, but you never married?"

William nodded.

"That is sad," the man replied, receiving a simple smile, and then his customary 'admitting it' look.

Not long after that, George shared his story, predicating it on the fact that it would not be as interesting as Henry's. He stated plainly, that he was not here because of woman, but he that he too had been unlucky in love. He was here because he had little hope of getting a decent job. Explaining that he lost his job because he stole something, he added, "Something of great value, and well then, well … I had a record, and no one would hire a man who had stolen from a previous employer now, would they?"

After a sigh, he tried to cheer up, stating with a shrug, "Maybe it's for the better. I too have always fancied myself a bit of a writer," he said, sharing a nod with Sin, "always longed to get out and see more of the world… Now's my chance, as I see it." He looked over at William and said, "I consider myself lucky that I met up with this fellow here, Henry Codrum from years ago, and we found each other again– at the House of Industry, and so I figure I'll just kinda tag along, taking notes for novels I want to write some day… Now I know Sin, that you wouldn't know it, but Henry here is quite an inventor, smart, even more than smart. And let me tell you, never a dull moment," George concluded, sharing an appreciating nod with William.

The men grew quiet for a few minutes, giving William time to delve into his thoughts about Adomas. He reasoned that Adomas got his job icing trains for Armour so he could sabotage the meat, that was the big job and money maker he wrote to Ieva about in the beginning of July. He was probably working for Davies. Of course, it was possible that he was actually working for Burns, William couldn't be sure. Either way, it would be in the best interests of the USA to stop the sabotage of their major toff's businesses, so Clegg probably sent an assassin out to kill Adomas. " _Perhaps it was on the train from Winnipeg to Toronto where the assassin finally caught up with Adomas…_ " William thought. But what about Meyers, why was he involved back before he got blasted out into space in Pendrick's rocket? The papers said that both the American and Canadian governments investigated the spoiled meat, because people died in cities from both countries, and then perhaps both countries agreed to call it negligence on the part of the American companies, maybe it was in everybody's interest to cover up the sabotage aspect behind the deaths, and the big three American meat magnates placated by agreeing to add more icing stations along the train routes. William wrinkled a corner of his mouth subconsciously as he thought, _"But what would be in it for Clegg, besides covering up that his man killed a Canadian citiz…"_

Suddenly, the train hit the breaks – hard.

They had pulled into an icing station, but seeing as it was the middle of the winter, that clearly wasn't why they were here. Further, the trains heading westward rarely had refrigerated meat aboard to need to be kept cold. William and George had been busy working to assess the situation, so at first, they had both missed the look of worry on Sin's face. It wasn't until the man had already run to the car door and flung it opened that they knew he had every intention of taking flight. This man was their best chance of finding out what had happened to Adomas Baltavesky. They had to stick with him.

And so, the threesome found themselves ducked down inside of one of the most disgusting-smelling garbage cars ever to be smelt, waiting to pull out on an adjacent train. They hadn't noticed that this series of train cars lacked an engine, and so was destined to go nowhere. They heard the voices of the railguards yelling back and forth to each other as they progressed further and further down the train they used to be in.

The side of the garbage train car they were hiding in was rusted out in spots, and George was able to peer out through a small hole in the dilapidated metal. Through the hole he saw a few guards run past. But then, oh and he was certain, he saw Clegg. The man said nothing to no one, and yet somehow it was obvious that he was in charge. George felt it in his marrow, the stakes were high.

All three men let go an audible sigh of relief when the other train pulled away, although they were wise enough to stay put a bit longer. This was a fortunate decision, for the guards could soon be heard searching the woods in the surrounding area. They stayed hunkered down, freezing, stiff and sore, and worried, for almost an hour, the reek of the garbage seeping deeper and deeper into them, until they heard car engines turn over and then the voices were silent for another ten minutes before they braved taking the chance to move.

They were on the move the moment they had crawled out of the garbage car, talking as they walked, and walking fast. Sin explained that the Americans were crazed with finding and stamping out socialists. Neither William nor George asked, it was just assumed, that Sin was one. That's what they got Jurgis for. He was the fella I told you about who lost all his savings to the bank cause of the tricky mortgage, and then his wife died in childbirth, and then…

George finished, showing the story had touched him, "his first son drown in the street."

"Yeah, him," Sin said, "He helped during the meatpackers strike back in the summer, walked off the job, encouraged others to do the same, even started some trouble with the scabs that came in to fill the jobs. He got blacklisted, and then all that other stuff happened so quick once he couldn't get a job." Sin shook his head and added, "Then they got a bull on the take to arrest him on some fake charge or another, theft I think, and now he's just stuck livin' out his days in some jail cell."

After traveling another couple hundred feet, fortunately downhill, William asked, "You seem to have a particular destination in mind," wondering where the h…

"They didn't just randomly stop the train at that icing station fellas," Sin answered. "Them bulls, and probably this Clegg you two seem to know, they knew we were close to the jungle," he explained.

"The jungle?!" both William and George exclaimed in unison, William with an eyebrow lifted, though no one could see it as they rushed along their path.

Sin stopped, the winded state of the three men now more apparent without all the motion. He gazed down the ridge into the valley below. "We'll need to bring somethin' with us," he continued, as if the question had not been asked. Spotting smoke from a farmhouse chimney in the distance, the rapid pace was re-established. "A jungle, gentlemen," he finally answered, "Is a place where hobos congregate. This particular one draws men from far and wide… Has an abandoned barn, and the owner, likely a socialist I might add, is tolerant. You will be able to ask about your friend Adomas there," he added.

They stopped at the farmhouse, and using some of William's money – which he had hidden in secret compartments in his coat and pants – they purchased an abundance of canned goods, potatoes and corn, and some milk. Bearing gifts, so to speak, they headed off to the jungle.

))) (((

Rocking in such a delicious sleep, Julia had drifted off on the couch. Eloise came in from her afternoon shopping, stomping snow and muck off her boots at the door and dropping down the packages to take off her coat. As will sometimes happen during lucid dreaming, Julia pulled the sounds she actually heard occurring in the environment around her into her dream, the dreamer's mind incorporating them into the unfolding story. In this case, Julia dreamt that she was asleep on the couch and it was William who came in the front door, home from work.

Her insides twisted so lusciously as she dreamed that her handsome lover approached, his dark-chocolate eyes studying, admiring, her sleeping body, growing lustful. His breathing strengthened, rushed, as he held himself back, forced himself to wait… took off his jacket, his vest, his tie. He unbuttoned the top of his shirt, then with his eyes darkening, soaking in the sight of her chest softly rising and sinking as she breathed, he reached down and undid the buttons at the ends of his sleeves. Finally ready, he kneeled down on the floor before her, and tenderly captured a curl dangling at the edge of her face. He fiddled with it briefly, then slipped his fingers into her hair, glancing the sensuous ridges of her ear, then his thumb found the traces of her cheek, and he leaned forward, his warm breath breezing gently across her skin, just before, like a prince in a fairytale, his lips settled on hers, and his kiss seduced her to wake.

"William," she said, raspy and succumbing, the utterance not much more than a mumble to the real ear, as his kisses traveled to nestle into her neck, their intensity growing to nibbles and then to outright, mark-making, hunger. Her womb flipped over inside of her, and she moaned low and deep in response. She felt his knuckles brush against the curves of her bosom as his fingers pinched the buttons of her blouse, freeing the supple, jiggly orbs of flesh, and the world fell away from her from such dizzying heights, for then his mouth licked and sucked at her cleavage.

 _She had had something important to tell him, something very, very important… she was certain. And she fought against her urges trying desperately to remember what it was._ But then…

 _His fingers… Oh my God…_ " _How did he remove my skirt..._?" And now his fingers … " _Oh my_ …" And she arched up to him, and flipped and surged and fell, when he moaned with his discovery of her scrumptious desire for him. And, " _wasn't there a thought…_ pulsed her brain as it spun…

"Please William," she cried out, "Oh my God please," her words pierced the air, their sound in reality beginning to tug at her consciousness, to pull her away from him. " _Hurry William! Please_ ," the words screamed for him in her head.

And then she felt him cover her. And the world collapsed with pleasure as he ruptured her, every cell in her body knotted with anticipation, for he was so close now. " _Boom_ ," the first push came… " _Boom_ ," the next. So magnificent the feelings rippling and storming through her. "Hurry," she pleaded, feeling the edges moving in from the periphery, "Hurry." And then the tilt… and the float… There was no stopping it now. It would hit, and it would hit ha…

 _Mmm_ , such a flood of his hot sweetness, eruption, after eruption, after eruption of his sumptuous waves flowed over her, through her, in her, to and from her deepest center, her core, where he touched her so deeply. _My God she loved him so. William… William…_

And she was awake, with her brain and her body still swimming, as she swallowed down the ecstasy, and hugged and reached for him, now knowing only his absence… and the soft couch was under her… and she was alone… and he had left… and he might never, never… come home.

))) (((

It was dark when they arrived at the jungle, men's faces illuminated only by the glow of a few fires burning near the back door of the barn. Although it was cold, it wasn't windy, and the doors were left partially opened to allow the light and warmth from the cooking fires in, the smoke from the fires traveling downwind away from the barn. William, George and Sin had made their way around to each of the eighteen hobos, making small talk and asking questions about Adomas. Using his photo, the one that William had found with Adomas' letters in the room where Ieva had stayed in Toronto, they had found four men who recognized their victim. All of them had known Adomas as an icer on the trains from Chicago to the East, one even remembered his name.

William had also thought to ask about other icers, and had found that there were a few besides Adomas, mostly after men had stopped seeing Adomas last summer. Interestingly, quite a few hobos, one of them quite young, only about fourteen-years old, who had ridden that train-line in the summer said they had also come upon large blocks of ice on the ground near the tracks. Most of the time, these ice blocks were within a few hundred feet of an icing station, convincing William that his theory that Adomas had been sabotaging the meat on the trains was likely correct.

After completing the rounds, the three men settled down, sitting eating with their backs leaning up against the wall. "That young man, the one who's looking for his father…" George reflected, "he's gonna end up with quite a story, don't you think Sin?"

"A sad one, I'd bet," Sin replied.

"Seems most are," William added. William had identified with this teenager, for they had both lost their mothers when they were young. This youngster's father had stuck with him though, unlike William's father. That is until last summer, when the man's hand had been chopped off in accident with a machine. Even then the boy had become the adult, caring for the father, earning what little money he could for them. William sighed with his own thoughts. " _I guess it all got to be too much for the man – wounded his self-respect so much he had to go,_ " William figured to himself…

"Speaking of stories, George said with curiosity in his eyes, "Would you tell us yours Sin?"

"Ah now," Sin said, lifting his eyes to meet George's in the dim, flickering light, "that wasn't part of deal." The man smiled at George, glanced across George to nod at William, and smiled.

If William would have been pushed to say, he thought the smile revealed Sin's suspicions that they were not the men they had claimed to be. He even imagined, in that blink of a moment, that Sin was telling them that he didn't care – he liked them anyway. It seemed Sin caught William's smile and nod in response just before George asked…

"Well then… why the name 'Sin?' I mean it just seems a bit of an odd name to give yourself, implying that you _sin_ a lot and all," the fellow writer wondered.

Sin chuckled at the thought, its logic obvious. Truth be told, it was because of the man's real name, 'Upton Sinclair,' but there was more to it, and that was the part he was willing to divulge. Turning back to look at George he replied, "As a writer George you are likely to enjoy words as I do. I came across one that I instantly became fond of, 'sinuous,' so I took the name 'Sin' from it."

"Oh, I see," George said, considering whether or not to let on that he was not familiar with the word. He wondered if it would reflect badly on his abilities as a writer.

Interrupting any chance for George to ask, Sin asked, "Did you fellas find useful answers to your queries?"

William answered, "There are quite a few hobos here Sin. You were right about that. Yes, yes, I think it may turn out helpful, we were able to get the word out, so if Adomas is still hoboing, he'll likely find out that two friends are looking for him… It is amazing how many people are here in December…"

"Yeah, you wouldn't really expect it, but this jungle has lots of amenities… Now I know neither of you has anything to compare it too, but, well, that's why… You know, there's even an outhouse," he declared. "And I'm gonna go use it," he said, moaning with the stiffness of standing and then taking his leave.

Hurrying to take advantage of being alone, William told George his theory about what had happened to Adomas. He explained that he figured Adomas had been hired by either Davies or Burns in Canada to get a job with one of the big three American meat magnates, probably Armour based on what Sin had told them, and then he caused their meat to spoil by throwing out the ice from the refrigerated train-cars, while at the same time making sure to fill the cars with ice at icing stations sufficiently far enough out from the destination points to ensure that the meat would feel cold upon arrival. This way the decayed meat would be sold to the public and a major competitor would be destroyed. Further, he reasoned that Davies was most likely behind the plot because his business still relied heavily on slaughtering hogs at his site in Toronto and then selling the meat locally, rather than using meatpacking from far away like Winnipeg and then shipping the meat in refrigerated cars. By making the public think that shipping packed meat was dangerous to their health, his slaughterhouse would be rolling in profits.

William admitted that he was still foggy on how Clegg and Meyers both fit in, thinking that Clegg might have had Adomas killed to stop the sabotage of American bigwigs, and then Meyers might have traded Canada's keeping quiet about the American's murdering of a Canadian citizen for their toff, Armour, accepting responsibility for the bad meat and agreeing to add more icing stations to the train routes.

It all made sense to George. He glanced over at the closed front doors where Sin had exited the barn heading for the outhouse. _Likely, there wasn't much time, but he so wanted to know_ … Clearing his throat and working up the courage, George asked, "Sir, I apologize if my asking, um, oversteps my bounds…" George paused. His eyes waited…

Certain that whatever it was George was thinking of asking it would probably lead to discomfort, William frowned, but still said, "What is it George?" reminding himself to be patient, imagining Julia's influence in the back of his mind.

"Well sir, why didn't… Well, what I mean is, if Dr. Ogden wasn't sterile after all…"

A hot buzzing began to play in William's ears. This was going to get personal. William pushed himself to stay connected, held eye contact, nodded, told himself he could handle it.

George continued, "Well it would seem to me that your story should have been true sir… I mean the part about Dr. Ogden getting pregnant with Dr. Garland's child… But she didn't…"

Surprising himself with the feel of it on his own face, William smiled and then finished his thought, "So how could it be that she got pregnant when she was married to me, but not when she was married to Darcy?"

George nodded enthusiastically, certain Sin would come through the front barn doors any minute.

William took a deep breath entirely aware of the building up of the pressure inside of him, and sure that George would notice the flood of heat crawling up his neck and into his face. He found it necessary to swallow before he could speak, starting, "Julia has shared her ideas on the subject…" Yet, William found it impossible to look George in the eye, quickly dropping his eyes to the barn floor as he struggled with using the few words that seemed available to him in his head, like, " _because of my sexual prowess_ ," or, " _because we make love so often and our lovemaking is so good_ ," certain that he would be unable to say such things out loud. "Um… we uh, she says that I uh…"

William's efforts managed to convince George that his thoughts about the explanations had been right. Brilliantly, the younger man found a way to let the detective know that he understood the reasons. Sparing the man the uneasiness of being blunt and descriptive, George interrupted, "Don't worry sir, I understand. Um, you see I know about the parrot sir, um, I heard Charlie… talking… uh, going through his imitations, uh, back in the Winsor House Hotel."

"Mm," William replied with a nod and a look of recognition, verifying George's conclusions. It took everything George had not to make a joke, the thoughts dancing so near his tongue, of how silent the same bird likely would have been if he lived a floor below the Garland's bedroom back when the two doctors had been a couple. He held back, knowing his mentor… Oh, but he did so admire the man, seemingly in all things, it turned out.

/ ~~~

Returning with the last bit of meat on the grill, after what had appeared to George and Sin to be quite an entertaining conversation with the chef – a man Sin knew to be a homosexual, William sat down next to Sin. He sensed there had been much giggling at his expense, suspecting the grins the two men were having trouble wiping off of their faces were the remnants of the fun.

Sin teased, "So Henry," George turning away quickly to hide his face, "Seems that the local wolf there's been tryin' to get ya in his pack, heh?"

Despite wishing it wouldn't happen, a pink flush swept over William's face betraying his embarrassment. "I guess," he replied, George now falling apart, unable to hide his laughing.

Sin reminded, "You know I warned you, being a handsome fellow around these parts can lead to trouble."

William looking momentarily puzzled, for he did not really remember being warned of any such thing. The he said, "Jack…" he cleared his throat, "Jack, the ' _local_ _wolf_ ' I suppose… said I… uh, that it was obvious that I wasn't a ' _sheep_." William braved asking, curling up a side of his face to show his uncertainty, "He said he figured I was more like a ' _ram_ '…?" his question causing both men to sputter into snickers.

"Mm," Sin responded, working to contain his laughing, "I figure he's got a point."

Unfortunately, William figured he already had a pretty good idea what Jack's sexual innuendo had implied, but he preferred to be sure. The man had been blatantly flirtatious with him, even poked him in the ribs with his apparent joke about how he could ' _ram_ ' him anytime, clearly implying he was inviting William to have sexual relations with him. Perhaps he was most wondering about how common such relationships were among hobos. Jack had been one of the men to say he recognized Adomas, and Adomas too had been attractive. Maybe he had propositioned Adomas as well.

Sin leaned forward, hushed his voice, and the other two huddled closer to listen up. "It is pretty common, for an older, more experienced man who knows the ways of life out here on the rails to befriend… and kinda, well, bond with, you could say, a younger, less experienced one. They call the experienced man a 'wolf,' and the novice fella is called a 'sheep."

"I see," George blurted out, quickly lowering the volume, "So, the _wolf_ called you a ' _ram_ ' instead of a ' _sheep_ ' – get it, an _adult male sheep_ , sir."

William smirked scornfully, "Yes George, I get it," he replied, annoyed.

Jack extinguished the cooking fires, leaving a fire going for heat and light and then walked over to sit himself down next to William. He pulled out a bottle of whiskey from his coat, the smell of it rushing into William's brain, reminding him of Julia, and he felt a pang of missing her in his chest. " _She would have been delighted,"_ he thought. Jack offered up a swig.

"I'm not a drinker," William answered, seeing what he thought might be disappointment cross Jack's face.

"How about you other blokes?" Jack offered.

Both Sin and George were glad to accept, thanking the man for his generosity. "Henry," Jack started, "I hope you ain't angry with me. I meant no insult to you…"

"None was taken," William replied, showing he held no grudge. It had not been the fact that it was a _man_ propositioning him that had embarrassed William with Sin's and George's teasing as much as it had been being propositioned at all, by a man or by a woman. In the recesses of his mind he thanked his wife, for so many years ago she had pushed him, helped him have the compassion to wholly grasp the humanity, even normalness, of men who lead such non-traditional lives. It had been one of the first times she had been angry with him… "M _aybe more frustrated than angry_ ," he thought. He fondly remembered the conflicts stirring within him at the time, between both being frightened of her fury, and falling even more madly in love with her for it, as he had watched her unruly curls bouncing about while she argued passionately, her voice rising to that exquisite squeak of hers with the excess emotion. " _If God didn't want us to express our desires, then why would he give us desires in the first place?"_ he re-heard her now in his head. _Yes there it was again, that lovely flip, and ignition of love in his chest, leaving an aftertaste of loneliness because of their current distance._

Over the years he had come to see homosexual preferences as being no different than any other sexual proclivities one might have. The train of memories ran on the back burner of his mind, of Giles becoming so angry with him for making the assumption that _all_ homosexuals were attracted to young boys – likening it to his own situation of not being attracted to young girls, and even Dr. Grace and Lillian Moss loving each other, and having to do so secretly as they had, to live happy lives and be accepted in the world. He was grateful now, that without condescension or with some subconscious feelings of either superiority or pity, he could truly say that he had not been insulted by Jack's proposition.

Jack shared with them that there was straw they could use for keeping warm and for bedding more comfortably up in the loft. William was in the process of explaining the loft would also be a better sleeping location because heat rises when…

All of a sudden the front doors were thrown open, and immediately silence overtook the dimly lit barn as some uniformed policemen walked in.

The mood turned serious instantly, everyone holding their breath. Sin, on one side of William whispered, without changing the angle of his glance down on the floor, "This is not good."

Concerned for Sin, William remembered that earlier he had fled the train and hidden from Clegg. He noticed that George too seemed to be looking at the faces of the intruders, presumably also worried about Clegg.

Sin's eyes still down, he whispered, "The big boss is a wolf…" Turning his head more towards William's side, Sin spoke slightly louder, across William, "Jack, where's the boy?"

Panic for the fourteen-year old boy's safety spread through the four men, all of them now risking searching around the barn to see if the boy was adequately hidden, none spotting the young potential sheep.

"Don't see him," Jack whispered back, everyone returning their eyes to the floor.

"Flannel Bull's gonna pick Henry then," Jack warned, sending a chill down William's spine. Jack dug into his coat pocket and pulled out something small. "Henry, take this," he said, sneaking the tiny object into William's hand.

Careful not to look at it before he slipped his hand into his pocket, he determined by the feel of it the identity of the object. " _A prophylactic! A prophylactic!? Why on Earth..?_ " William's brain screamed, rushing with fear, a part of him refusing to see the obvious implications. "I, uh…"

Jack whispered, rushing as the policemen grew close, "He'll let you use it with the woman first, before he…"

Jack halted his speaking, even his breathing, as the man, the only one lacking a uniform, stepped in front of him, his perfectly clean and polished boots suggesting his relative importance.

" _Flannel Bull, I presume,_ " William thought.

"So, if it isn't my old friend, Wolfman Jack," Flannel Bull said, feigning camaraderie. "And what do we have here?" his voice said, it's angle of approach changing as he leaned over, his face coming closer to William.

" _Keep your eyes down. Keep your eyes down_ ," William coached himself with his mantra.

""" ```

 _The whole thing seemed like a bad dream… William hoisted to his feet by the uniformed men. Instructed to remove his coat. George surging forward, being hit. George down on the floor – a gun to his head. Williams coat,_ _ **was it he himself who tossed it off to the side?**_ _Flannel Bull touching him. Resisting, turning to swing at the man. Pow! – the cracking sound of the gun handle hitting his skull, its ultrasonic boom registering before the searing sting on the back of his head. Still up, wobbly. "Stand still!" the whisperer ordered, Flannel Bull now behind him, the man's breath in his ear. "Just as easy to shoot your friend as not," he threatened, returning his hands to place them on William's body._ _ **Repulsive, disgusting creep basta…**_ _"Take off your shirt," the command came, silence but for the sound of the cocking of the gun at George's head. Unbuttoning the buttons – forgot the sleeves. Reaching to unbutton them too._ _ **Don't even feel the cold on my skin. Shouldn't I feel the cold?!" …The bastar… creep's hands on my…!**_ _"Mary's gonna like you," his disgusting breath in my ear._

" _He'll do. Cuff him."_

 _At the barn doors. Opened, cold air on my chest now._ _ **"The boy! The boy! What is he doing standing there!?"**_

" _Run!" William yelled, thrusting his body backwards into one of his captors – back of his head slamming into creep's face. Kick – high! Hit hard. "_ _ **Behind you- don't forget behi…**_

 _Blackness_

))) (((

Sin and Jack had enlisted the help of the other hobos to care for William and George after Flannel Bull and his men had left with the boy. They were able to use a wood axe to break the chain between the handcuffs so he wasn't no longer forced to keep his hands behind his back, and then they put William's shirt and coat back on him, and then the men struggled with getting him up into the loft.

When William awoke hours later, up in the hayloft, dressed, it was with a jerk, his mind urgently shouting in his nightmare for the boy to run, frantically fighting off the American policemen, delaying their pursuit, in the darkness… and it was cold, so very cold…

Sin sat up only a few feet away from him. "Henry, you alright?" his question hitting William's ears with a startle in the dark.

His fingers were touching, discovering the large bump on the back of his head, before he had noticed that it hurt. " _Henry?_ " William asked himself. Then he found the odd bracelets around his wrists. " _What the…?"_ he wondered briefly before the memories hit him, and he knew, "… _Handcuffs_." The emotions so powerful, they threatened to hurl him away so severely that he had to fight with all his might to somehow stay – where he was – which was still in the barn – where Flannel Bull and his men had captured him – before the boy was discovered instead.

"Sin?" William asked, unable to see in the dark.

"Yeah," came the man's answer. "They knocked you out. George too…"

"George!" William gasped.

"He's fine. He's right here too. Came to a little while after they left. Must be sleeping," Sin reassured him.

"And the boy?" William forced himself to ask, noticing the hope in his own voice, yet so sure it was for naught.

Sin exhaled and William already knew. "They got him," he answered.

))) (((

Plagued by invasive flashes of images of what had happened… and even by what would have happened… if they had not discovered the boy instead, William was exhausted, unable to sleep, but drifting off over and over again as the train car they were in rhythmically, almost hypnotically, brought them closer and closer to Chicago.

Itchy, scratching at was surely lice, George asked the same questions repetitively, constantly, over and over again, because he only remembered the bits at beginning – the American cops coming in. How did I get this lump on my head? I got hit? Who hit me? Why would they hit me? They had you, sir? Why did they hit me? Who hit me? They had you, sir? Why? I got hit? My head hurts. How did I get this bump on my head? Over and over again William and Sin would answer the same questions. Admittedly, their patience was growing thin.

William couldn't get the demise of the boy off of his mind, ashamed of himself, though not quite consciously aware of it, for not having protected him, experiencing a sort of survivor's guilt for not having been taken instead of the boy.

"I feel I should have done something," William said breaking the monotony of George's questions. Of course, he should have known, he should have been emotionally prepared for George to do it…

"Done something about what?" George asked, prompting William to roll his eyes, annoyed with himself for setting up another round.

Ignoring George's question, Sin said, "Nothing you could do. Flannel Bull was gonna leave with someone… someone young if they were there. The boy was just in the wrong place at the wrong time – as were you."

"Who is Flannel Bull?" George asked as if he'd never heard the name before.

Completely overlooking George's question, Sin reflected philosophical, "Look, out here it's all about power… and most of us don't have much, some ain't got any. When you realize that there ain't no shame in not having power, you'll survive better."

William and Sin shared a long look before William replied, "Well that's all well and good, but it isn't _just_ about power now is it?"

Confusion crossed Sin's face.

"I mean, it is one thing to have more power than others. Imbalance of power seems inevitable. It's another," William shook his head, his aversion to the thoughts, the memories leaving a bad taste in his mouth, shaping his expression. His eyes held firm to Sin's, "It's completely another thing to abuse the advantage that power gives you for the sole purpose of hurting others," he declared.

Grateful for George's stupefied look as opposed to his incessant questioning, Sin replied, "Well, you're getting to the full impact of the first _law of the jungle -_ _ **power**_. And when you really study it, it's like any other drug, corrupting, devouring. It can take a man's conscience more forcefully than any alcohol I've ever seen, turn him into someone he'd be ashamed of in a flash. Cause there's a little trick to power, once you taste it, you don't want anything else, and you want more, and the greed just mushrooms inside of you, and then …" Sin paused, took the pulse of the other two. They were right there with him. In the back of his mind he applauded his own previous judgment, not surprised, for these two had seemed special from the beginning. He continued, "Well, then you will do _anything_ to feel that surge of power inside of you again – and it's easiest to gain it by taking it from another, and usually the weakest ones are the easiest targets."

The moral battle lines were being drawn, and William felt his blood pumping inside of him, rallying him to the cause. "The way I see it, the law of the jungle is that the strongest, the fastest, survive. The tiger hunts and kills, hurts its prey- yes it's true, but not just because it can, but also because it's hungry, it must cause this pain in order to survive. If I run faster than you when the tiger takes up chase, I do so because I can and because I need to in order to survive. The tiger does not kill because it takes pleasure in causing pain to the prey, I do not run faster than you for the pleasure of seeing you killed by the tiger. The way I see it, the law of jungle is that you do what you must do to survive – and of course this extends to protecting and caring for those you love. It is _not_ about power over others for the pure sake of power – that is _not_ the law of jungle, at least, not the _real_ jungle anyway," he said.

For the first time all day, George seemed himself, connected, understanding, interested. He nodded in agreement, adding, "That seems right, sir."

Sin sighed, feeling his friends were on the moral high ground, but that they were not seeing the glaring, blatant, ugly truth. He tried to reveal it to them, explaining, "Yeah, I see your point, um with real tigers and real gazelles and all, _**but**_ power for power's sake _is_ the law of _this_ jungle, the one _we_ were just in, back in the barn, and the bigger one, the jungle made by capitalism and its inherent struggle and its ultimate downfall – its temptation for greed, and to you and me and that boy and Adomas and Jurgis, and even to Flannel Bull, to **us** , _this_ jungle is the _real_ one. And in _this_ jungle, and this is especially true after a man's been kicked when he was down, made powerless and victimized, abused, and then, he gets a chance to feel in control and have power over another, well in _this_ jungle it's a hard thing to pass up... And who are we to say a man wouldn't take that chance to feel powerful in the end? Like revenge… if it came down to it, wouldn't you want to hurt Flannel Bull if you had the chance? Don't you think that boy would?" He then hit William with his hardest question, "Don't you think his _father_ would have?"

Her image dashed across his mind, Julia, with her belly sticking out in front of her, big with child – _his_ child, maybe _his son_ … And he did feel it, the crawl, the boil, of agonous, crippling, pain at the thought of someone intentionally hurting his child, and it was suddenly there, he knew it was right – such a feeling would… it definitely would, ignite into fury. And yet, inside of him there was a battle, down to the core of his soul, for a part of him called out wild and hard, for him to find another way, a higher way. William took a deep breath, imagined the anger flowing away, and said, "Justice yes- he should pay a price for what he has done, but…" William shook his head, stammered on his search for the words, "But to stoop to his level, to fall into cruelty and malice, to hurt just to hurt… I hope I wouldn't, because if I did then I would have lived a life, survived it all, but I 'd have done it all for nothing… it wouldn't have been a life worth living in the end."

Sin found he admired the man, his call to our better angels. He had felt the tug of it. He had to admit he was grateful for the inspiration, but he also figured that reality would eventually steal away the temporary insight, not just from himself, but from Henry, _if that was actually the man's real name_ , as well. "Touché Henry," Sin awarded, "But what you speak of is rare…" Sin shook his head, attending to the opposing forces inside of himself. He changed the subject – sort of.

"Do you remember why I said I chose the name 'Sin?" he asked.

George bubbled with excitement – he had not remembered something for a while. "Sinuous!" he exclaimed.

Sin and William shared an appreciative look. "Yes George," Sin replied. "It means supple, limber, able to bend. It is of course, how the tree survives the hurricane. For me it serves as a reminder to be willing to adjust. For me it is the trick to life, to any modicum of happiness, and the key to being able to survive… particularly here, in _this_ jungle.

))) (((

Bolting upright, Julia was suddenly awake. Dark, but for the glow of moonlight, she knew it was the middle of the night. "William's gone," came the important reminder explaining the lack of ease. She turned to find the empty pillow, the empty place in their bed. " _He's somewhere even if he's not here… probably cold…_ " She pictured him in her mind, lying on the hard ground, only the one blanket, sleeping curled up in the fetal position, shivering – the mind denying him sleep to keep the pulse rate up, to stay alive, to survive the cold. Julia rolled over and pulled his pillow lengthwise, then tucked it under her arm, under her leg, and under her belly. His red pajamas under the pillow, she felt their cozy fibers in the darkness, pulled them close, knowing his scent would permeate, stimulate, her deepest memories and thoughts of him. Tears began to swell. And she told him across the vastness, that she wished she could cover _him_ , warm him, shelter him from any harm that threatened to rain down on him… She sighed, so aware that she could not…

She took a deep breath letting the burning ache of his absence intensify in her chest as the oxygen touched the flames, steam prompting a teardrop to pearl and roll across her nose, fall to the pillow, so large and so swollen with liquid that she could hear it plop onto the pillowcase. " _Oh William,"_ she pleaded in her mind, _"please take care of yourself, treat yourself with kindness, my love, for I cannot, so you must,"_ her thoughts begged across the universe. The tiny spasms started in her gut as her crying turned to weeping, and she didn't fight it, but yielded to its catharsis instead. She whispered her plea in the whitened dimness, "Come back to me," before she buried her face in his pillow and cried it out.

Not much later, Julia awakened from a dream, the images seeming to swirl away to be replaced by her more grounded awareness. Lingering, she felt the urgency with which she had been searching for him in the dream, trying to find William with an essential message to tell him… And her mind paralleled a thought about how crazy this was… She had wanted to give him the critical message that the manger's car pet, a large, hairy dog who lived permanently in the back seat of Mulligan's automobile, well, in the dream she knew she needed to tell William that she had seen the manager's car pet dripping and soaked in blood… And the most important part she knew _only she would know_ , that it was up to her to tell him, that it was not a male, as the manager had been claiming, no, it was a female.

Sitting on William's side of the bed, Julia puzzled at her own subconscious for the veritable oddness of the dream. It would plague her. Eventually she accepted that she would have to wait for her own subconscious mind to send her a better clue, while she sipped on her hot chocolate, downstairs in the kitchen, wishing with all her heart that it could be like so many other nights, and she would see him in the window reflection, or hear his footsteps softly approach from behind her. She wished more than anything, that he were there…

))) (((

Already drained and troubled, William and George jumped off of the moving train, leaping one after the other behind Sin. The pungent stink of the cold air alone signaled that they had arrived in the Chicago stockyards. The Sun was low in the sky as they made their way, boots crunching in the snow, to begin the next part of the journey.

With Sin as their guide, they were quite successful with their progress on the case, having had contacted both the cop Sin knew and the inside man at Armour's Meatpacking plant who had gotten them the undercover jobs they wanted. William would be working on the second floor of the building that handled pork production, as close as possible to the offices where he hoped to find logs recording when Adomas Baltavesky had worked there and what jobs he had had. George had gotten a job in the cold room, where the pork is packed, with the hope that he would come across workers who had known Adomas, who could tell them what their victim had done last summer. Both jobs were unpleasant, George's in the freezing cold all day, cutting up meat while unable to feel your fingers, William's probably even worse, placing the chains around the live pigs' feet for them to be hoisted up onto the meat-hook on the overhead assembly to begin the process of being slaughtered and then butchered.

By the time they said their good-byes and thanked Sin, all three had come clean about their true identities. And thus it was that the detective and the constable had been introduced to the world of the jungle by the important and influential author, Upton Sinclair.

))) (((

William turned out the light in their tiny room. Only minutes later George's voice breeched the darkness as they both tried to settle down to sleep. "It's like we will be working the opposite ends of the line you and I, hmm sir… You at the beginning and me at the end?" he asked sounding _much_ too awake.

"Mm," William answered.

"I guess those pigs are on the bad side of the law of the jungle then," George mused. "You remember sir, when you made me wear a dress and shoot the pig carcass?" he asked to only silence, "…to measure how far blood spatter would travel…" still only silence, "Or when we saw the plane crash and there was a pig-alien flying it?" he went on… and on…

George's voice rambled in the background while William's memory of having Mulligan insult him in the Judge's office, saying snidely, "If you hang around a slaughterhouse, sticking your nose where it does not belong, detective, you should not be surprised if you end up being mistaken for a **PIG** ," played in his brain. It simmered a bit, tempting him to attend to it, his anger, " _…or was it,_ " his last thought taunted, _"…fear."_


	12. Chapter 12: Kith & KinT

Murdoch in the Jungle_11_Kith and Kin

Perhaps, the hardest thing he had ever done in his life was to wrap the chain around the _**second**_ pig's back foot. It was only rivaled in difficulty by his making the decision to set Constance Gardner free instead of stopping Julia's wedding to Darcy, and that decision, upon reflection, would lose to this. For, after that decision, acceptance had come, painful for sure, and yet there was a small sense of sweetness in the rightness of his suffering. He had battled with guilt then too, for his decision had not _only_ cost him his happiness, it had cost the woman he loved in a way that both rocked and soothed his soul, the woman that he knew, from her note, felt the same way about him, and so because of that, he knew he had hurt her terribly with his decision, condemning her to an unsatisfactory life.

The reason the _first_ time he committed the brutal, damning, act of placing the chain around that first pig's foot was not the worst, was simple – it was the last time that he was innocent. For when he did it the first time, he did not know what cruelty it wholly entailed. But after that, after he had heard the most blood-curdling sound of all his life as the pig screamed in terror and agony, being lifted by its foot into the air with a jerk, after he had heard the rattling and the clanking of the machinery, of the overhead assembly strain and fight the buckling with the convulsions and mortal fight of the pig, only to hear its torture move further and further away across the ceiling, until finally it was silenced by what he knew was the peace of its being butchered, sliced and bled out, exsanguinated, farther down the line, after that _he knew_. That was the last time he did it when it was not a sin.

And so the only break William would have in the ordeal, a ten minute break, the whole receiving end of the line still, finally quiet, the only break in his shift, came. In all his days he had not felt such a tilt and twist in the ground underneath him, wondering if he would appear drunk to the other workers as he walked to the door. Nausea had already wrenched his stomach, his vomit just mixed and washed away with all the other bodily fluids that had dropped to the floor on the killing bed. He had been crying for hours, no longer aware of the tears on his cheeks, he stepped through the doorway and paused, watching the other men walk down the staircase at the end of the hall.

Somehow through it all, beckoning him with a last bastion of hope that there was a reason for him to have caused such horror to the naïve, childlike animals, his eyes fixed on the door at the opposite end of the hallway, the one that led to the offices of Armour's Meatpacking Plant. He took a deep breath, and he pushed himself, seemingly uphill through the wind-tunnel and torrents of his devastation and guilt, to the door. It was why he had come – to learn the truth about what had happened to Adomas Baltavesky.

The flush of heat, once he stepped into the administrative corridor breezed across his cheeks, rosying them. By the time he stood in front of the door with the name, " **Jonathon Ogden Armour** ," he had regained much of his composure, focusing his mind on his intended story, slipping into his role. The door was ajar, so his knock would be light.

"Excuse me sir. I'm a new worker and I was hoping to speak with you about something that I feel could benefit us both," William said respectfully, working to do so with an air of confidence.

The man was tall and thin, reminding him of Dr. Tash. The desk he sat behind, extravagant and quite huge, seemed aimed at intimidating whoever stood on the other side of it – in this case – him. Armour did not give his visitor the courtesy of looking up from the papers on his desk, saying, "Welcome to Armour Meatpackers… Mr…?"

"Codrum," William replied, stepping further into the room, "Henry Codrum, Mr. Armour." He decided to say nothing more, to wait for the man in power to invite him to do so.

"Are you on your break Mr. Codrum?" Armour asked, still not looking up.

"Yes sir," William answered.

"Then you'd best make it quick – our policy here is to dock an hour's pay for _any_ lateness," he added, finally lifting his eyes – strikingly blue, and big, like Julia's, William noticed – with the man's smile registering as evil with its blatant smugness, as if claiming his right to expect submission.

"I will, um, Mr. Armour, I have a talent for invention, and I have been admiring your impressive set-up here," William started with a nod. He drew in a breath and continued, "I have found myself inspired with some ideas… that perhaps you would find useful…" He waited.

"Go on," Armour said.

"Well, for instance, I have been working on the killing bed, um, with the pigs, and I have noticed that the process used to hoist them up onto the assembly creates much turmoil…" William worried momentarily for Armour sighed, showing impatience, and William thought to himself that the man would not care about the suffering of the pigs, so he would need a different angle. "Um, sir the animal's thrashing about endangers both the men around and the whole assembly. The machine seems vulnerable to injury, which of course would cost time and money…"

Armour nodded, and the frown was gone.

William went on, "I have invented a sort of electric gun…"

Armour raised an eyebrow, looking impressed.

"It works off of a charge, so it is mobile, and it shoots wired darts into the body, releasing an electrical current that upon contact overwhelms the nervous system, rendering the uh, pig in this case, um it renders the pig temporarily paralyzed. Then the pig can be hoisted safely onto the assembly without the fuss and the risk to man and machinery – and importantly, this method would not affect the quality of the meat produced down the line," William said, unable to hide his pride and excitement with his gadget.

"Sounds like a good idea, um…" Armour said, unsure of William's name…

"Codrum," William answered.

There was a feint whistle, both men looking to the door. William's shift was starting up again.

"Sir, I believe I could invent more… uh, but I would need to know more about what you already have here," William rushed his point, looking at various items around the man's office – clandestinely looking for log books that might contain records of Adomas Baltavesky's employment here – he eyed the file cabinet and said, "Like how do you keep your records, uh there are lots of ways to make record keeping more effective and efficient. Oh, and of course, the rest of the plant… sir." He waited now, both men knowing it would cost him back with the manager of the killing beds.

Armour's delay grew uncomfortable and William added, "Or I could come back after my shift, sir?"

"No, no. I'll be… I always lunch from 12:30 till 2:00 or so. No, let's have you start by looking around the pig processing works first – today, when you're done. I'll tell Mandley to take you around," Armour concluded, signaling with a toss of the head towards the door. His eyes back down on his papers he dismissively added, "You'd best hurry Codrum," his patronizing tone stirring insult within William.

"Thank you sir," William rushed to say heading out in a rush. " _Tomorrow when he's out to lunch then_ ," William applauded himself as he hurried back to the cold, heart-wrenching killing bed.

The manger bellowed, sounding much like the Inspector, "That two minutes is gonna cost you an hour's pay Codrum, and if it happens again I'll be addin' the cumulative expense of the time down the whole line. You start this thing off – you make the big bucks for this job, I've half a mind to drop you right now. Good thing for you there ain't a bloke waitin' right here to step in… or I would."

To some degree William was grateful for the surge of fear the man ignited in him, it distracting him slightly from the dreadful task he had begun to take up once again. Brace as he could however against it, the shrieking of the terrified, brutalized animal, the sound so distinctly human in character, it destroyed him right down to his very core. " _There'll never be enough visits to the Confessional to heal this_ ," he worried, reaching for the next chain, opening it wide between his two hands, the bitter-hard metal of the links threatening to freeze right to his skin through the holes in his gloves, and then forcing himself to target the next cloven-foot…

After finishing his tour of the pork processing buildings with Mr. Mandley, William headed back to the meat-packing room to find George. He found the same two disturbing images kept invading his thoughts, bouncing from one, to stubbornly be rejected and pushed away, only to be replaced by the intrusion of the other. The first was, expectedly, the screeches and screams of the pigs piercing his ears while he cringed with the view of his _own_ hands grasping around the next pig's chain… And the other image, it was from last night, from a repetitive nightmare. It always started the same way, with Julia being deliciously seductive with him, stepping up behind him, nibbling and kissing, her raspy, lusty voice in his ear, his neck, her perfect hands cherishing and awakening his flesh, growing dangerously closer and closer to his most sensitive spot, spinning his head into a soup and draining away all of his blood – luring its fire into his groin, fortifying it and swelling it… and then he would look down to see that her hands were _too big_ , so indelicate – and those hands on his body, they were most definitely – _male_ – and he was certain of the man to whom they belonged – with teeth-gritting fury and panic erupting in him, William knew those were the hands of Flannel Bull and the fiend had him in his grip, in the palm of his hand.

The same thoughts plagued his sleep last night, each time he would gasp, and snap awake with a jerk, most of the time alerting George, surely rendering his friend's night nearly as useless as his own. And now as he walked through Armour's pork-processing buildings, it seemed completely unavoidable and inevitable that these two repulsive, repugnant memories would leap frog to replay one after the other, now that he was not attending to anything in particular to distract his mind, as if the dastardly memories were intentionally taking advantage of the fact that he could not possibly dispel both of them at the same time.

Despair hazardously close, William spotted George in the smaller, freezing-cold building where the meat is packed and prepared for shipment. He reminded himself to be careful to catch George _between_ knife strokes so as to minimize the chance that he might accidently slice off a finger. His mind flashed with an association to that particular type of disaster, to the murdering, law-evader Mulligan's claim that the blood on the green rug in his office wasn't Ieva's blood, but instead came from a worker who had cut off a finger. Unfortunately, now William had another dreadful image to shake-off, not to mention the reminder of another dead-end in the case to discourage him. He got George's attention, waited about half an hour till his break and then filled him in on what he thought was his good luck, explaining his plan to break into Armour's office tomorrow after his shift on the killing bed. Excitedly he shared that he had learned that Armour went out to lunch every day from 12:30 – 2:00. Knowing that George still had many hours of work on his shift, William went back to their little room – grateful, so very looking forward to, his first bath for a very long time, expecting that the other residents would not return home as early as he was, thus freeing up the tiny bathroom at the end of the hall.

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This time, Julia's dream was built around a memory, and it took her down a path that she had fantasized about for weeks afterwards at the time, back when it had occurred. She had been arrested for teaching women about contraceptives and was being held down in one of the jail calls in Stationhouse # 4. Darcy and she were married but he was out town at the time – and she had been glad for that… but… William had come down to talk with her.

Julia felt him there, even before she saw him, before she heard him draw in a breath. He affected her very being, her essence, down to her core, somehow, his presence, his closeness setting her every atom into a higher energy orbital – she could almost hear the hum. They had not seen each other for quite some time, and she wondered if he had moved on… Really, she wondered if _she_ had. The moment she lifted her eyes to see him there, she felt her womb flip over, and her heart lighten, and threaten to take flight. She heard the whoosh of the breeze calling her to soar, and she knew for certain then that she had not… she had definitely not, moved on. And she knew it would be difficult to hide it from him.

"Julia," his beautiful voice tingled her ears, and then he sighed, "Let me get the Constable to unlock this cell, so we can speak properly."

"Constable Crabtree refused to lock it," she replied, opening the cell door to him. Her mind raced down so many tracks at once. She marveled at how this _one_ man, William Murdoch and only William Murdoch, could throw her so off balance. At the same time, an enticing flash, a fantasy, so electrical and sexually charged that it threatened to buckle her knees, drew her breath and her attention, as she imagined his taking her suddenly, roughly, into his arms, kissing her passionately, desperately, hungrily backing her to the tiny cot, having his way with her, the springs squeaking away with each of his scrumptious, powerful thrusts. And her insides seemed to spiral and melt away. She had to drop her eyes away. She had to keep in control. " _How did she manage it,"_ she wondered, as she heard her own voice, only slightly dry, say nonchalantly to him, "Please come in detective."

She argued her case about taking the contraception matter to court, prompting William to challenge her resolve, warning her that she could face two years in prison. His concern seemed authentic, and she felt it deep down, his caring warmed her heart. William's big, gorgeous brown eyes met hers with such force, and he contended, "Julia, you're being stubborn."

And she was, but it was taking such bravery to do so, and _his_ strength only seemed to feed _her_ courage, something she had felt from being with him before. She remembered it then, on a side note, that his ability to empower her, like no one else in her life had ever done so completely before, it had been one of the reasons she had fallen so head over heels in love with him… before. Julia insisted, her curls dancing in the periphery as she did so, that she knew she was right. She reframed his statement, showing her own attributes in a more positive light, _not stubborn_. "I like to think determined," she said, stepping back deeper into the cell.

And she saw something happen… in his face, in his eyes, and she knew in her heart that he was shaken, that he felt it surging inside of him and he was losing the battle with it – and she knew – and it threatened to upend her, that William Murdoch loved her still.

"William," she whispered, feeling the earth move underneath her, the walls fall in and fall away. His hand behind her waist, her neck snapping back with the intensity of his tug, _and my God_ , he kissed her. There had never been a need greater than the need she had right now to be closer to this man. "Please William," she heard her own voice beg, whisper in his ear, "I've missed you. I want you. Please William."

And her dreams came true then, and he pushed her back and then down onto the cot… He rushed to pull off his clothes, his lustful, darkened eyes honing with such a drive into hers. Suddenly, he had removed her bloomers, and he was right there on top of her, so heavy and strong, and their eyes locked tight, and he asked her… somehow… And she answered him firmly, wrapping her legs around his waist, "Please William." And then she felt it, the heavenly pressure and heat as he began, so solid, forcing her to yield, and he made love to her. Their harmonized moans twisted and twirled around each other in the air, rising and echoing, dispersing into the distance, like smoke, like steam, hers loud and demanding, his lush and quiet, privately and deeply it vibrated through her eardrum, sunk down into her soul. Such ferocious, sweet pleasure wrenched and pleaded inside her core with the feelings, so intense, so sultry, of him getting ever so much closer, to the one perfect spot where their union meant more than life itself. And she needed him closer, deeper, harder, stronger, more, so much more, for just that one final miniscule inch. Rupture and rapture were just out of grasp, and so she pulled him with every ounce of strength she had… And she heard his sonorous breath in her ear, only the tiniest tick of time more… BUT…

 _What was that over there?_ Heaven dropping away from them, they both turned to see…

It was Mulligan's big, hairy dog again, still covered in blood. The pet had escaped from the murderer's car. It trotted right into their cell. It plopped down on the rug there, contaminating it with blood. And then Julia remembered that she had something extremely urgent to tell William. It was at the tip of her tongue. The words, they started, "William, Mulligan's automobile pet… it isn't…"

And then, so suddenly, she was just plain awake, and alone in their bed in the night. Not in the cell. Not with William, remembering that he had left to go undercover, that he was in danger, that he might never come home, and as she had done back then, she missed him so very terribly and she wanted him more than she ever thought would be possible… And she reminded herself that, unlike back then, he was _hers_ , and that it was true that he loved her, and he had married her, and that they were about to have a baby, and in that instant she was both ecstatic with joy for her good fortune, their good fortune, and saddened and terrified too, that she would lose him again.

Julia took a deep breath, her eyes adjusting now to the darkness. She so wanted to finish her statement to him, pushing to remember the urgent message. She had been saying, " _It isn't… It isn't… WHAT!?"_ Frustration took her again as reality gained hold. She sat up in the ringing late-night silence and chased after the dream. _A cell – she was, they were – in a cell. And there was that dog again, Mulligan's pet, the one that lives only in his car… And again it was covered in blood. There's something about that dog that only I know – and it's something I have to tell William. But I can't remember what it is._

She tried going back to the previous dream, the one with a similar theme from the night before. In that one she had known that the dog was a female not a male, that this was something she could catch Mulligan in lying about. William would be able to pull the rug out from under the murderer, so to speak, if she brought that to light. _"Was that it again,"_ she asked herself about this most recent dream, " _Was I going to say it isn't a male, it's a female_?" She just wasn't sure.

Having had requested her subconscious to send her a clearer message about the meaning of the odd dream, Julia had to admit, this didn't feel any clearer. She tried to analyze more from what she could remember. One thing was that the jail cells were white – not the dingy beige-color that Stationhouse 4's cells were in real life. She remembered now, **even the bars were white**. " _That's definitely odd. Perhaps some sort of statement about purity – back at the time of the dream William had never, uh, it would have been his first time – like it actually was on our wedding night,"_ she considered. However, it didn't really resonate, " _but somehow,"_ she thought, this strange color of the cell was significant. " _White cells…?_ " she pushed herself, " _That does sound familiar_ ," she thought. She sensed it had a connection to a fleeting thought she had had when she was reading recently. " _Either the transverse Cesarean section, or the research on… determining…_ _ **gender**_ _… in_ _ **cells**_ _... That must be it!_

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Seemingly the only resident on the floor, William claimed the treasured and only bathroom at the end of the hallway as his own, securing the lock on the door. Only the smallest of mirrors, he would use it to shave. Flashes of memories of Julia watching his ritual warming his heart, he finished the job while the hot bath ran. He turned off the water, the tub now full, and began to undress.

It happened the moment he reached down to the ends of his shirtsleeves, felt the pinch of the button between his fingers. So invasively, so distinctly, he heard first, the cocking of a gun on the floor, and then Flannel Bull's despicable voice from behind him, so realistic in tone he spooked and jerked to turn to see if the man was really there. " _ **Take off your shirt**_ ," came the command. Terror, and then fierce anger, cascaded through him, one after the other, so quickly that it was hard to distinguish the feelings. He felt totally helpless, his heart thumping savagely against the confines of his chest, then the register of the cramping weakness and stinging, debilitating frozen paralysis in his muscles as they worked to relax with the falseness of the alarm. William made himself breathe. " _Just your imagination_ ," he coached himself. He clamped his fists firmly around the edge of the sink countertop, worked to slow the nauseating ringing and spinning, concentrated on the feel of the floor under his feet. Another sigh, he moved on, " _You were taking a bath_ ," he reminded himself and tried to focus.

Naked, immersed in the muscle-melting heat and permeating dampness of the hot water, he felt his body yield and soften. " _If Julia were here she would soothe me_ ," he thought, and he tried to recall how she would do it. A memory of being on vacation with her at the beach last summer seemed to float into him on luscious waves. He imagined her voice, intimate, warm on his skin, close. " _Close your eyes William. Listen to the wind, the waves. Let the smell of the sea in… long, slow breaths… the gentle kissing of the warm breeze and the toasty heat of the sun on your skin. You don't need to do anything right now… Just be here with me…"_

After a while, he moved again, picked up the soap, lathered up his hair, and his face and his neck and his chest… And then he saw… And with it misery flew back inside of him… He saw his own hands. And he remembered seeing them, although gloved at the time, grasping the ends of a thick chain, and clasping it around a pig's hoof. And again the urge to recoil and wince, to avoid at all costs the shrill impact of the sounds as they came, of the terrified pigs as each one was hurled upside down in inescapable pain. " _These hands,_ _ **my hands**_ _, have caused unspeakable torment, over and over again_ ," he said in his head. The pit of despair lingered before him.

" _Confess your sins, William,_ " the message came to him, and with it his heart opened to the tiny ray of hope. There would be a Catholic Church, surely; perhaps Adomas had even sought healing there.

Later, after the spiritual healing afforded through re-connecting with God, he paused in the dirty street to appreciate the light of a striking full moon still low on the horizon, and William felt the reassuring tug of exhaustion. With a deep breath he took in the cold stench of the air of the Chicago stockyards and imagined the tiny bed waiting for him up in the room he was sharing with George. Having had nearly no sleep, it seemed for days, he was confident he would sleep well tonight. He felt a restoration of his faith, and with it, he was more himself again.

He wondered if perchance at this very moment Julia was gazing up at the same moon. Astronomically he knew, he saw it in his mind's eye, that the source of the moon's pale luminosity, the magical glow's very presence in the night sky attesting to the presence of it, was the Sun. And so too it was with Julia – for she was the source of the warmth in his heart, and although she was not right there next to him, they were connected as surely as the Sun lights the Moon.

Four large steps up out of the street to get onto the sidewalk, and his mind did the calculations, and he knew it was likely true, that the Lithuanian man Sinclair had told them about, the man named Jurgis, had come home to find his toddler son had drown in the street. Pushing the nauseating thought, the disturbing recognition, away, he used the key and let himself in.

Once upstairs there was ample evidence that George had been home. " _Probably out to get some dinner,_ " William figured as he stripped down to his underwear and crawled under the covers. He allowed himself the pleasure of looking at his photo of Julia for a few moments, strengthening the feeling of love he felt for her before he set it aside and turned out the light. William was fast asleep by the time George returned.

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Thursday

In the tiny bed, only about four in the morning, yet just before he needed to rise to go to work at Armour's pork-processing facility, William was having a beautiful dream, lucid and realistic, grounded in his memories of making love to Julia at the beach this summer in the moonlight. She had teased him, giving him a playful shove and then running off heading up the beach to the woods through the cool sand. He watched her, feeling his primal male urges grow with the sight of her jiggly, curvy flesh bouncing about in the glow of the pale lunar light. When he caught up to her, he pinned her against a tree trunk, and kissed her, and explored her magnificent body until he felt her drop heavy, and weak, and her devastating, wildly hungry moan moved his world. It was she who broke the spell, surprising him as she said, "I do believe you told me you enjoyed climbing trees detective. Let's test those lumberjacking skills shall we?" she challenged, turning and lifting a leg, indicating she wanted him to boost her up into the tree. He obliged her, enjoying the view of her body from below as she demonstrated that she, too, was quite at home in a tree, bounding and climbing higher and higher in the luminous light.

He took up chase, the beast within him stunning with its prowess, he had soon pinned her once again against the significantly higher, and now thinner, trunk, each of them sharing the same two branches with their bare feet to hold them there locked together, suspended in the sea air. The breeze, the sound of the waves crashing against the shore below, seemed so much louder and potent up here. A blissful whisper rustled the leaves all around them, and he took her there, with all his might.

With his final thrusts, the delicious flood of pleasure rippling through him, William was coaxed to wake by his body's movements. Immediately he knew he was in the small room with George, and that the little alarm clock with the humungous, blaring ring had not yet been triggered. He checked to see if George was there in the bed next to him in the dark, still sleeping, and he let out a sigh with the recognition that he was.

William laid his head back down on the bed and searched for the lush remnants of the feelings of completion and perfection, finding the heat and ooze still there, out near his edges. He turned his pillow lengthwise and pulled it in close to him, imagining it was Julia in his arms with her head on his chest. Lingering there in the dark with her, he watched the magic go, like the pinkish hues scattering and dimming after the sun has gone down, fading to magnificent blues until all the glow is gone. He imagined that she squeezed him tight and then slid her fingers enticingly across his chest and confided, " _That was wonderful William, I feel it down to my toes_ ," as she rubbed her hot feet up and down his legs. In his mind the fantasy prompted a giggle, for he had remembered his recent torturing of her with his cold feet.

With a smile on his face, William gathered up her photograph and took the little clock with him into the bathroom at the end of the hall to set it for George later. With the alarm-clock, he left George a note, not wanting to wake him, laying out his plan. Today would be their last day here in Chicago. He would complete his shift which ended at 1:00 PM. Then he would sneak into Armour's office while Armour was out to lunch. He would find the logs and records of Adomas Baltavesky's jobs and his pay, and hopefully he would take the appropriate documents needed as proof that Adomas had been the one committing the sabotage of the refrigerated meat last summer. Then he would come get George in the meatpacking building, and they would leave. They would go to Winnipeg as was originally planned.

William expected that Ettie's connections would help him obtain proof as to whether it had been Davies, albeit most likely through Mulligan in this case, or Burns, who had hired Adomas Baltavesky to destroy the American meat. He was coming to accept that they might never come to know exactly who had killed Adomas Baltavesky, although he reasoned it was most likely a spy working for Clegg. However, Davies and Mulligan or Burns was to be held accountable for planning and hiring Adomas to destroy the meat, and subsequently killing five innocent people, and he now intended to focus the case on gathering evidence against the culprit, or culprits, of that crime, having to accept that doing so would have to be good enough.

Stopping in the hallway bathroom, William used the light to quickly sketch out the plans for his weaponized capacitor. He intended to leave the design for his electric gun in Mr. Mandley's mailbox in the hopes that Mr. Armour would start using it to stun the pigs before they were slung up onto the ceiling to be slaughtered. It offered him a slight chance to offer repentance for what harm he had done.

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The baby kicked, and Julia reached to soothe it, placing her hand lovingly on her belly. She noticed that she had been humming, the contended sound of it providing proof of the lifting of her mood. The idea had sparked magnificent thrills within her – _perhaps there were some blood characteristics that could be used to match specific people to a sample of blood left at a crime scene, while at the same time eliminating others._ Now, she worked with a purpose, down in the lab room William had built for her in their house. "Little one," she spoke out loud to their child, "I wish your daddy were here. He would be so excited too, I know he would." Well, at least she had Isaac to share it with. She had called him and told him all about her idea. He was even coming over later today to provide his blood for some of the tests.

Sprawled out all over the lab were journals and books opened to studies of genetics and blood. One set of research focused on an area Dr. Grace had contributed to, well at least in the small world of Toronto pathology, if not amongst her publishing medical peers. This was a method of blood donor discrimination based on the A, B, C, and D typing of blood. For this method of identifying a characteristic of an individual that matched a given blood sample, Julia was waiting for a call back from the university to learn if the friend she had there, Dr. Reddick, would be able to provide her with the various A, B and D antigens she would need for the tests. Each of these different antigens would be applied to the blood samples to see which ones, if any (in the case of C), clumped around the red cells. In this manner, blood found at a crime scene could be matched to a particular blood-type (A, B, C, or D), and this would eliminate some suspects and further incriminate others.

However, Julia was much more intrigued by the second set of articles. These were on detecting differences in the _nuclear_ material of cells, particularly the parts of the nucleus that some researchers, such as Walter Sutton and Theodore Bolveri, called chromal units. This research showed that there might be detectable differences in this chromal material between men and women. It was this idea, that it might be possible to tell whether blood came from a man or a woman from this nuclear chromal material, that she believed had been linked to her weird, recurring dreams.

Julia found herself stimulated by the fact that one of the researchers in this field was a woman, named Nettie Maria Stevens. Based on earlier research with salamanders, she was examining the nuclear units in insect eggs and sperm, predicting that humans too would have less chromal units in the sperm than in the egg, making for an expectation of finding an odd number of chromal units in sperm (and men's nuclei) and an even number in eggs (and women's nuclei). You should in theory then, Julia figured, be able to take any cell's nucleus in the body, and examine the relative amount, and symmetry – oddness vs. evenness, of chromal units to match it to that commonly found in men or that commonly found in women, thus identifying the sex of the person that blood came from.

Already examining her own blood, prepared and stained on slides, she had spent nearly an hour looking through the microscope. She was hunting for a _white_ blood cell. It was _this_ discovery that she received from her subconscious in her dream, _use white cells_! It was a major solution to the problem she had run into last summer, at the time thinking her idea about identifying the gender of a person who had left blood at a crime scene to be a flop because _red blood cells lack a nucleus_. As white blood cells contain a nucleus, they could provide the needed chromal material for the gender test. Unfortunately, she needed a somewhat _rare_ white blood cell – one that was in the process of mitosis, or dividing – most preferably in the last stage of division called metaphase. Finding dividing white blood cells was particularly challenging because most white blood cells do _not_ divide, instead being made by the individual's bone marrow. Therefore, the search for a useful one promised to be long and tedious, and most likely would require relatively large amounts of her blood to examine.

She turned the low-power knob to focus and spotted a potential cell. Switching to high power, adjusting the focus it revealed itself, clear as a textbook diagram – a white cell in metaphase! Unaware that she was holding her breath with its majesty and her good luck, she admired the perfect symmetry of the two opposing rows of darkly stained, snake-like rod-shaped sections of chromal units. "I wonder if Isaac's blood will have less symmetry?" her scientific predictions developed…

She heard the phone ring upstairs. " _Dr. Reddick from the university_!" she hoped. In her nearly eight-months pregnant state, she decided not to rush up to the phone from down in the basement, relying on Eloise to answer it and come to get her if the situation deemed necessary.

))) (((

" _Perfect!_ " William nearly declared aloud. He had found a page of the Armour payroll logs that recorded Adomas Baltavesky as receiving payment for work as an icer on trains from Chicago to Toronto, Buffalo, and New York City during the pay-period of July 16th to July 31st. He had proof that Adomas Baltavesky was in a position to be the one who had sabotaged the meat last summer! Carefully he ripped out the page and tucked into his pants pocket. It would irk him later that he didn't make his escape at that moment, but he had wondered if anyone else had worked with Adomas as an icer who might be able to provide witness testimony to the fact that Adomas actually removed the ice from the trains after each icing station along the routes. Thus he searched through the logbook for just that few moments more, running through the alphabetical listings of men's names with their job listings and payments, checking for any other "icers" for the same time…

 _ **It was the sound of a key in the lock**_ ; William quickly identified the disturbance from behind him with a jolt of panic. Armour stepped in just as William turned around from the open file cabinet to face the office door. _Oh, there was absolutely no faking his way out of this_ , William had been caught red-handed.

"Mr. Codrum," Armour said, his voice too loud, too excited, to pull off his attempt at acting smug, "It seems you got yourself a chance to look through my files after all."

William closed the book, not wanting to give away what he had been looking for.

Armour pulled a handgun out from under his long-tailed jacket and aimed it at William. "Now, Mr. Codrum, if that is really your name, I would prefer not to shoot you…"

William's mind was going a hundred miles a minute, and it was going in multiple directions at the same time. He could throw the book at him, risking that the surprise would throw off his aim, it might allow for an escape… Alternatively, this could be his last breath on this Earth, part of him saying his goodbyes and apologies to Julia, and despairing at the loss of the chance to raise his child…

Armour had gone on, "… We so much prefer not to have bullets in the Christmas Hams. And make no mistake Codrum, you will be part of people's Christmas Hams this year," the magnate-toff taunted.

Deciding that talking might at least give him time to think, William said, "Mr. Armour sir…" William's eyes wide but firm holding Armour's, "I do not believe my offense warrants killing me, sir." He saw a blink… an opportunity. "Admittedly sir, I should not have snuck into your office, but I wanted to impress you sir. I wanted to garner some idea of how your system works so I could show you ways to improve it, sir…" He curled a corner of his mouth, asking the man to consider his plea. Amazingly, even to William himself, the logic of his claim seemed plausible.

Not lowering the gun, Armour sighed. "I admit I see no attempt to steal, Codrum," he gave. He flicked the pistol a few times towards the desk and instructed William to put the logbook on the desk. Then he ordered him to stand, with his hands up above his head, and with his back against the wall. Armour approached the desk and, glancing back and forth between William and the logbook, he flipped through the pages of the book.

William's heart picked up the pace again, suspecting that Armour would discover the missing page in the book – the one currently in his pocket. Perhaps he should explain before the man made the discovery. He pushed himself to speak. "Alright sir, I was really looking to find the whereabouts of a friend, sir. He um, well he's been missing and I have important news for him from his wife… Uh, about their son, sir," William said, finding he had been able to move closer to the door without Armour seeming to have noticed.

Armour was urgently looking for evidence of which pages William had been looking at, growing more and more suspicious as William rushed to explain.

William spotted a big, heavy, bronze pig statue on the small table near the door. He had his plan!

Armour hurried, spotting some smudges on a few pages, probably from the little sneak's filthy hands, " _Codrum and the other little fellow he came with… My copper brought them in… Said they came from Toronto didn't he?"_ Armour's mind drilled his memory trying to assess the danger this man presented. " _Wasn't that icer we hired from Toronto too? What was his name? Balt-something… Look in the B's…_ "

The whack sound of the bronze pig statue against Armour's head worried William. He really didn't want to have killed the man. However, he was out the door before he could figure out how severely he had injured the man. He definitely did not have long to get away, whether he had mistakenly killed Jonathon Armour or not.

Even in the rush to find George and make their getaway, William still went to Mr. Mandley's mailbox and left the plans for a more humane way of preparing the pigs for slaughter. As much as possible, he had hoped it would clear his conscience. They needed to stop by the room they had rented to collect their minimal belongings. Wanting a train to Winnipeg as soon as possible, they had at first considered taking a passenger train, despite their state of dirty, stinky, hobo-like attire. William remembered that trains to Winnipeg from Chicago would cross the border into Canada, and as such, would require passing through customs… And that would require identification, which he and George had intentionally _not_ brought along with them in order to best keep their identities a secret. As a result, they needed to hop the first train to Winnipeg that was _not_ a passenger train, thus ending up on a train coming from the south that was loaded up with cotton.

))) (((

Julia heard Eloise coming down the stairs and forced herself to pull her attention away from drawing the diagram of the chromal units of her white blood cell, pushing the microscope away and pausing her pencil.

"Dr. Ogden," Eloise stood in the doorway of her lab, "There is a Miss Weston on the phone for you…"

 _Oh my, Julia just hadn't expected that. It threw her off kilter to be honest, catapulting her into a struggle to come up with any plausible reason for the madam, Ettie Weston of all people, a woman who her husband, the straight-laced and buttoned-down William Murdoch, had had a previous romantic relationship with, there just wasn't any good possible reason that she would have to call… here… and … to call now?_

Eloise had finished her message, the words arriving after a delay in the odd, time-tunnel inside of Julia's head, " _It's about the detective,"_ she had heard Eloise's voice say in her brain, the woman stating what Julia already knew was obvious. It was strange too, that Julia noticed that she herself was already half-way up the stairs.

She stood before the table in the foyer, the phone receiver resting innocently next to the phone, waiting, so dizzy, she felt the world closing in and falling apart. Unable to imagine … but so sure it would not be good, Julia considered not ever picking it up... But really, the world had already changed. Her eyes found William's hat, his cherished homburg hanging on its peg in their foyer, falsely suggesting that he was home. A feeling of portence shivered and shuttered through her with the recognition that his hat might never sit on his head again.

Ettie Weston stood in her room in her brothel, ear to the phone receiver, thinking as she waited, that William Murdoch had become quite the toff in the end. She was surprised by her reactions of anger and contempt, but she had never thought _he_ would end up being the type of man to have servants answering his phone… " _It had to be because of_ _ **her,**_ " she thought, aware of a change in static, preparing to speak with… his **wife.**

"Dr. Julia Ogden," Julia said into the receiver.

"Hello Dr. Ogden. My name is Ettie Weston. I kn…

"I know who you are Miss Weston," Julia interrupted. She wished her tone had not come out as being so… annoyed. She forced herself to breathe and then continued, "We met a long time ago… You ran the Music Academy, um… where I examined the body of a prostitute who had been murdered."

"Yes," Ettie replied, "That is true. I… William was supposed to arrive here, um, in Winnipeg, late Tuesday, or possibly on Wednesday at the latest…

" _Supposed to?"_ Julia heard the words and they sparked fear in her. Her brain had already run forward – _William was lost_ , the terrifying thought had not yet taken hold. And it competed for her attention, with another thought, more complicated, twisted, convoluted… hard to get a handle on, but it had to do with the fact that _Ettie Weston was_ _ **expecting**_ _William_ to come _**to her**_ …

"I know that in the winter, the snow, the weather, can delay trains, so I didn't call until I checked, and all the train lines from Toronto to Winnipeg, passenger and freight – because he would most likely take the freight trains… um, because well, because of being disguised as a hobo… And all the trains were running on time since Monday. It's just… I'm worried…" Ettie explained. There was a pause.

Julia floundered. She felt she might faint. It was all she could do to remain standing. " _William_ ," her brain tried, almost as if she were calling him. Her eyes began to swell, she felt too hot… and too cold.

Ettie spoke again, thinking she needed to explain why she called a bit better, "I was wondering if perhaps you had heard from him, or… if maybe he had decided not to come after all?"

Julia pushed herself to speak, "No, he did go… um, undercover as you say." Hearing the panic in her own voice seemed to set off the dominoes inside of her, and the panic escalated, making her voice squeak as she continued, "I haven't heard from him." Even the voice inside of her head squeaked as it sounded the alarm, " _Something's wrong! Something's wrong!"_

Yet, Julia's mind nagged at her, part of it having had traveled down a different neural path in her brain. It pushed her to ask the question, and she heard herself ask it, almost as if it were someone else doing the asking, "William made plans to meet _**you**_ – before he left?"

Ettie felt her body react instantly to his wife's question – with an ecstatic jolt, a musical hum. Deciding she did not have time to figure out why the question made her so happy, and trying to mask her reaction, she replied matter-of-factly, "Yes. He was going to arrive, as I said, late Tuesday or Wednesday, with a friend, a constable, after they traveled on the trains undercover as hobos… Um, that's why I called here and not to the Stationhouse. I had the impression this was… a sort of, **off-the-record** kind of trip…"

Those particular words caused an amazing pain, a wild nauseating pain, with their implication of secrecy, clenching Julia's gut, prompting her to place her hand on her belly. Then, feeling their baby with the touch, the panic resurfaced, " _William was missing! She was pregnant and he was missing! She would have to do this alone – without him! William…"_ Ettie had gone on, she had missed some. Julia tried to pay attention, certain the woman's words were important, despite her being so overwhelmed.

"…He was planning to stay here – with me, his friend too. We have, well, the victims in the case he's been working on came from here, in Winnipeg, and he thought… uh, that I might have some… connections to help him on the case. Not just with, um, well with my line of work, but also because I know all the bigwigs… that Will thought might be involved with the case," Ettie explained logically.

" _Will! Will!"_ Julia's rageful voice screamed inside of her head, " _She calls him Will!"_

Julia nodded her head, her jaw beginning to tighten, "I see," she said curtly.

"He said he would probably stay here for a few days," Ettie continued, "Um, stay here with me in my coffee house."

Her mouth agape, Julia was so floored she could not make a sound. All her wind was gone. The phone held to each woman's ear, nothing but silence on the line…

"Dr. Ogden?" Ettie finally asked.

"Thank you for calling… And letting me know," Julia said, sounding spacey. She hung up the phone before she heard, before she decided she didn't care, Ettie's request that she call her if she heard from William. She hung up the phone before she could get the woman's phone number.

 _She had to get out to the street, to go find him… Still, she knew that she didn't know where he was, didn't know where to look… but he definitely wasn't here… And the world was too big for her to search to find him… And William was gone… maybe forever…_

Intolerable, Julia wobbled, knees weak, and rushed to the door. Trying to regain some control in the utterly topsy-turvey world, she started to batter herself with accusations about how stupid she had been to let him go… And then she remembered _who_ had called, and _what_ William had planned to do, to stay with his previous lover, and _**not**_ to let her know.

Julia hurled the front door open, rushing out into the cold. Momentarily fear and panic outweighed her anger, and then it would get all swirled up with her self-loathing again, and she was going to be sick, and then she was sick, vomiting on the porch steps, the brownish liquid staining the white snow. And then the tears and the convulsions came. And then she felt Eloise take her in her arms and she had a towel to clean her face. And she's trying so hard to calm her… but Eloise looks terrified herself. " _William's missing. He's lost. He's gone! I never should have let him go. He might be dead – he might never ever come home. And he snuck away to see an old lover. And he never made it there. And my God I don't know what to do…"_

Eloise brought her mistress up into her bedroom and suggested she would make her a draft to calm her down. Julia told her not to do so, that Isaac had said no more alcohol because of the baby. Eloise watched as Julia lost her mind. Over and over again she got into and out of bed. Then Julia got up, with a purpose, looked about the room, and then gathered up William's pillow, and some blankets and his pajamas and brought the bundle down to the living room. " _If he did ever come home, he would be sleeping on the couch,"_ Julia hollered in her head.

She marched down into the lab room, seemingly unaware that Eloise was in tow, so furious she refused to continue the experiment. _She didn't want to do anything that had anything to do with William Murdoch ever again_ , she thought, instantly falling into sobs, the torrents of which were so power they brought her to her knees. She stayed down there on the lab room floor, balling her eyes out.

Feeling utterly helpless, Eloise phoned Dr. Tash and told him what she knew, that there had been a call from a woman named Miss Weston about the detective. The call had upset Dr. Ogden terribly. " _She mostly seems to be crying, sir, she's completely out of control._ _It can't be good for the baby_ ," Eloise pleaded, " _Then, suddenly she just… switches, and becomes very angry. She is definitely angry with the detective; she put his bedding and pajamas on the couch – he well, she is definitely angry with him. Can you come over doctor, as soon as possible?"_

))) (((

Back in Winnipeg, Ettie hung up the phone, her heart pumping so wildly in her chest that she could no longer deny it – " _He didn't tell his wife! There was hope!_ " and then she knew it, she knew she still loved William Murdoch – and there was a chance that he still loved her too.

))) (((

It was nearly an hour before Jonathon Armour came to. Before he had a man bring him to the hospital to get stitches to the side of his head, he examined the bronze pig, glad to see the heirloom was not significantly dented. Then he remembered the logbook, and found the B's. " _Baltavesky,_ " now he remembered the man's name! – Baltavesky's records had been torn out! This Codrum was a spy from Toronto, just like Baltavesky had been. Armour called over to the meatpacking building, furious to discover that Codrum's little friend had gone missing too.

Armour phoned his man Graveson, and put him quickly onto the trail to deal with the Canadian spies. Graveson was such a wild card though, obsessive and outright spooky, even in Jonathan Ogden Armour's opinion. Armour predicted what would happen. The eerie man would disappear, would not be heard from for weeks, whether he had killed Codrum and his little buddy right away, or whether it took him weeks to get the deed done. That was just how Graveson was. When he had killed Baltavesky last summer, it had been nearly a month before he showed up to collect his pay, nearly a month after he had killed the man. " _Maybe for the better in the end,"_ Armour thought to himself, " _it makes it less likely for people to link me with anything crazy Graveson does for me._ "

"Goddang Canadians…" Armour cursed out loud, the thought making him think to call Clegg, for the man was a spy working for the American government after all. _We can't have these Canadians coming down here stirring up trouble._

After filling Clegg in, the government spy said he suspected he knew who this Codrum was. _"There are actually many clues,"_ Clegg claimed into the phone while Armour nursed his bleeding head. " _The physical description, fortyish, handsome, big brown eyes, bit of a baby face, dark hair..."_ he explained. It had thrown Clegg off that Codrum wasn't wearing a suit and a homburg, but the other clues had clinched it for him. Clegg reasoned out more of the evidence, "Codrum said he was an inventor, Murdoch is an inventor. Codrum had a little sidekick friend named George, George Flowers of all things, Murdoch has this quirky constable that follows him around like a puppy. Codrum was looking for Baltavesky's files, now _that_ was definitely something a detective like William Murdoch would do. And the word 'Codrum' is the word 'Murdoch' backw…"

"Detective William Murdoch?!" Armour screamed into the phone, stopping Clegg mid-sentence, "Did you say **Detective William Murdoch** , from Toronto Canada! The same Detective William Murdoch who is married to Dr. Julia Ogden!?

"Yes. Yes, all of that is true," replied Clegg, sensing something was terribly wrong.

"Oh this is unbelievable," Armour said, speaking slower now, "Absolutely unbelievable. Jules' husband, the one she has this amazing storybook romance with, at least according to my mother and to all the papers… my first cousin, my mother Malvina Ogden's niece's husband. You mean to tell me, Clegg, that I just almost killed my own first cousin… Jules' fairytale husband, Detective William Murdoch?"

There was a hesitation on the phone, giving Armour a moment to breathe, before Clegg responded, "Yes, I do believe so."

The men ended the call, Clegg already starting to figure out where they would have gone and how to find them.

Armour reflected as he was driven to the hospital by his chauffer in his eloquent, lavish automobile. " _To tell the truth,_ " Armour thought. " _Maybe it would have been better if I had killed Murdoch…_ _After all, now the man might live to tell Jules – and Jules would surely_ _ **kill me**_ _. Hell, she lost her mind when I just pulled the legs off of some darn daddy-longlegs spiders. What the hell is she going to do when she learns that I almost shot the love of her life, and then that I planned to chop him up to be packaged into Christmas Hams? Maybe it would be better to have Graveson find this Murdoch before Clegg does and kill him?_ he admitted to himself, feeling torn. Well, he decided to let fate decide this one. Besides, Clegg never said he _wasn't_ planning on killing Murdoch. Maybe either way the man ends up dead and Jules would be none the wiser.

))) (((

Julia picked up the phone. She had decided to call the Inspector, as once again her worry had overtaken her anger and suspicion. "Inspector? It's Julia… Ogden," she said into the receiver. Her composure crumbled, her voice taking on its customary squeak with her panic, "William is missing," she blubbered out, looking desperately at his hat hanging on its peg, clinging to its presence as the only means of grounding she had.

The Inspector's heart felt a tug for the woman. She was clearly upset. "Yes doctor," he said as calmly as possible, "We have had men out looking for him for three days now."

Suspecting that William had let the Inspector in on his plans, and that the Inspector was _playing at_ not knowing that he had really gone out undercover instead of being, "lost," she hurried to explain, "No _really_ missing?"

Inspector Brackenreid's brain rushed to solve the problem. He remembered that Murdoch had told him in confidence that the good doctor had become very dependent since she had gotten pregnant. " _Would the bugger have agreed to call her – and then hasn't been able to?_ " he asked himself. "Doctor," he said, doing his best at pulling off his calm and collected tone without sounding condescending, "you must know that making phone calls… without giving your true identi…"

"No. No, Inspector. It's not that… Someone he was meant to meet – to stay with in Winnipeg, just called," Julia hurried, hearing her own voice wavering into the phone, starting to squeak again, "He didn't show up in Winnipeg, Inspector," and her body yielded, shaking and folding as the tears slid down her cheeks to be quickly brushed aside. She tried with all her might to listen into the phone for the Inspector's authoritative voice through the waves of emotion all around her and through her.

"I see," the Inspector replied, understanding now that something was definitely wrong. "I'll notify all the constabularies from here to Winnipeg, doctor. Get them to send men out to the trains. Um, best if we stick to freight train routes I think…"

Julia interrupted him, grateful for his confidence, reassured that he had a plan for what to do, the little bit of relief it gave her freeing her somewhat from her anxiety, allowing her to remember that _she_ could have stopped the whole thing. She confessed her torment, telling him, "He gave me the choice Inspector. I could have gotten him to stay. He would have stayed if I asked…"

He heard her fall into sobbing on the other end of the line. His heart sank so for her. "Doctor… We'll find him. I'm sure he's fine. He had George with him, hmm?" he asked.

With every ounce of courage she had, Julia forced herself to stand up taller, to sniffle back the tears. Nodding, she answered, "Yes. Yes, of course, Inspector. Thank you." Her mind taunted though, _"He had had Jackson with him when he was almost killed on the meat-hook… it turned out that not being alone guaranteed little, at least with the extremely ruthless and powerful forces William was dealing with now."_

) (

Soon after her call to the Inspector, Isaac came. He listened compassionately as she told him everything, that William had gone undercover and was missing, that he had deceived her about his plans to stay with an old lover in Winnipeg, and that the woman had called and said he had never arrived. Acting both as her doctor and as her friend, he gave her a draft and told her to take another if she became this upset again. Dr. Tash reasoned that the chances of the drugs in the draft hurting the baby were less than the chances that Julia's wrenching and sobbing so severely would harm the baby. And then he told her that there was still every chance that William was alive, for the man was highly skilled at his work, and that he would probably be coming home soon, and not to give up hope until she knew for sure otherwise – and maybe when William gets here, he can explain about this planned stay with his former lover. He reminded her to see that it may not be as bad as she feared it was. He left her in Eloise's capable hands, instructing the woman to only leave her alone overnight if Julia had managed to remain as calm as she was right now.

) (

Somehow, Julia had managed to fall asleep again after the first nightmare, after she had dreamt that Ettie Weston had brought her William's hat, telling her that the homburg was all that was left of him after he had disappeared, after he had stepped up onto a train, and it had chugged around the bend out of Miss Weston's sight, and then even the smoke had disappeared, and then Ettie knew, and Julia knew too, that William was gone, gone forever. She had woken up from her own sobbing, and it had taken her quite some time to stop crying, but she must have fallen back asleep. She knew she had eventually done so because she woke up in the middle of the night, once more, startling from a dream in which she had been in the process of losing her mind, fighting tooth and nail to survive the torment of seeing that William had disappeared right before her very eyes. This dream was different though, she thought, feeling the gurgling of anger in her belly, for in this one he had been leaving her – to go to Ettie.

Julia felt the rage burst inside of her. She smacked the bed in the darkness, making contact with the spot where he would have been, if he were home, gritting her teeth so hard that a thought passed by warning her that she might chip a tooth. In a fit, she rolled over, faced away from his side of the bed, not wanting to think about him anymore.

Then she felt it, metallic and cold at fist. She had forgotten that she had it on – the locket. It was sandwiched between her breasts. A memory, a beautiful memory, of William snuggling up behind her, slipping his arm around her, his fingers squeezing between her breasts as his breath rattled her ear, and he took hold of the locket, and she felt him, his flesh firm and wanting against her buttocks… _And oh my God_ she missed him so… And the tears started to form again… But then, like that rare occurrence when lightning hits before the storm has yet arrived…

An absolute, insane fury swept through her. She wanted it off! Yanked at the locket! Becoming even more furious, gritting her teeth violently with her inability to break the chain. She jerked up in the bed, yanking the chain of the locket over her head, tearing out locks of her hair from the root with the torrential pull, and then she flung the locket with everything she had…

She heard it in the blackness, the metal of it smacking against the closed bedroom door across the room, and then a splattering as the pieces ricocheted apart. It was destroyed now – she was certain – the locket now in pieces. My God the anger didn't slacken… And now it seemed to be steaming with her failure to hold back the tears. She wanted to punch, to hit, to kick, and to scream – at the top of her lungs – and to cry and to curl up and die…

She had to get out of here, couldn't take it in this bedroom without him, while being so angry with him, she couldn't stand it for one more second. She ran to the door through the dark, guided by the sonar created by her pounding heart and her thundering footsteps…

Sudden slicing pain, "OW!" she screamed out, the sting on the bottom of her foot cut into her by the broken knife-edge of the locket resting broken on the wooden floor in the blackness. "God darn it!" she bellowed, the guarantee that no one would hear her outburst only hurting her more. Julia pounded her fist into the door, its location closer to her than she had anticipated, lowering the power of her swing. Unsatisfied, she smacked it again, and then again, finally the temptation waning, and instead of lashing out she propped herself on the vanity and fell into weeping.

A few moments later she took a deep breath and wiped her eyes, sniffled, and then reached to turn on the light. Checking the injury, she noticed the dark hue of the blood from the wound in the bottom of her foot, and she knew it had sliced pretty deeply. Her eyes sought the locket, finding that only half of it was there. Her photo, her half… it rested there in its broken state, William's half, with William's photo, nowhere to be found, lost, gone… " _Apropos,_ " she thought, and then the two things happened so quickly, the one after the other, that they felt to be one. She remembered a time _he_ had said, ' _ **apropos**_ ,' when they had almost made love the first time on the picnic blanket in the park, and he had said he thought their drinking of absinthe would be apropos. Her heart had nearly leapt out of her chest with her excitement back then, William Murdoch was going to drink absinthe with her… _And my God_ , he looked so astoundingly gorgeous in the golden light of the sunset, and her world had spun and spun, for she was so very, very in love with this man… And then so quickly after the memory flashed, she began to punish herself for remembering that beautiful moment, for the torture it brought to her now, her mind screaming at her, " _ **Must everything remind me of him!"**_

The despair, the anger, just overwhelmed her and she fell down to the floor and she cried and cried, propped up there against their bedroom door. And she remembered when she had cried like this after he had become lustful for their waitress at George's Awards Dinner… And then she heard, or was it just remembered hearing, his lovely voice in her mind, coaxing her to stop crying, to breathe, to think of something else, to tell him how many teeth humans have, and then how many ribs, and it had worked… again, and she was no longer convulsing with the crushing emotions, and she was in control now, and she rubbed her hand over the baby, and she tried to reassure the child inside of her, that it would be alright, somehow.

))) (((

Unfortunately, the train that William and George had run with all their might to board, planning to catch it on a series of curves in the train tracks, anticipating that it would have slowed to handle the turns, lacked even one opened train car door. Struggling through the slushy snow next to the moving train as car after car overtook them, they saw that their only chance to get on the train would be to grab a hold of the railing along the small entryway at the front-to-rear connection between two cars. They had gotten aboard only to find that they could not move forward or backward through the train cars. They were stuck, standing in the tiny space, outside in the freezing rain, as the train sped along towards Winnipeg on its nine hour route.

Not only did the abhorrent physical conditions of riding to Winnipeg this way cause them suffering and hardship, it also allowed for railguards along the route to spot the two men. Unavoidably, someone had contacted Clegg about it – and probably Armour's fanatical assassin, Graveson, as well. Thus, when William and George arrived at Ettie Weston's Coffee House, they did not arrive unnoticed. They had been followed.

Arriving at the back door of the brothel at two in the morning on a Friday, Miss Weston's place was still bustling with activity. Soaking wet and exhausted, William and George were invited in by one of the prostitutes. William informed her that Miss Weston had been expecting them, but they were a few days late. The scantily-clad woman explained that the whole establishment had been on the lookout for them, and that Miss Weston would be very glad to know they had made it. She sent another woman up to get the esteemed madam, and she had them sit near the wood stove in the kitchen and quickly brought each of them a blanket.

By the time Ettie showed up, both William and George had been… _strongly encouraged_ by the giggling and seductive women to get out of their drenched and disgusting hobo clothing. Each of their outfits was strung out in pieces, including their underwear, all over various parts of the kitchen to dry. William and George each clung desperately to the edges of the cloth of their blankets, struggling to keep their shivering, naked bodies wrapped _within_ the blankets while women's hands stroked and tucked and rubbed in efforts to help them, "dry off and warm up."

"Now girls," Ettie said from the entrance into the kitchen, "that one there is mine." Ettie approached and the three women surrounding William parted smoothly, switching to join the pair of women fondling George.

"Miss Weston," William said, a huge smile betraying his relief with her rescue.

"Willia…" she started to say, quickly being stopped…

"Henry," he corrected, "Henry Codrum."

Ettie paused and smiled. "Mr. Codrum," she replied, successfully fighting her urge to put her hands on him, "You had us worried."

Ettie told the women that Mr. Codrum would be staying with her, and she gave… Mr. Flowers the torturous task of choosing which of the women he would stay with. William noticed that, try as he might, George couldn't wipe the quirky smile off of his face. Giving in to the urge to chuckle, William teased, "Tough choice George."

The flabbergasted sidekick responded, "That it is sir," soon losing his attention to the vivacious wiggling and touching and even little flickers of kisses seeming to come from all around him. They were treated to food and drink while their sleeping arrangements were finalized, both William's and George's rooms needing to be evacuated of their current _male_ co-occupants.

When William finally got upstairs to Ettie's room, he was so tired that he had to battle with himself not to fall right into her bed. He placed his backsack in a corner, reassuring himself that the ripped-out page from Armour's logbook was still safe and relatively dry inside of it, thanks to his having applied waterproofing oil to the outer surface. The two of them, with him still wrapped in the blanket, talked for a few moments. She suggested he take a warm shower, and she laid out some rather elaborate silk men's pajamas for him. She tactfully suggested that he use the special shampoo for men who have been, "roughing it," William knowing the special concoction was to help with a lice problem. Then she said she had some business to attend to downstairs but wouldn't be too long. She left him to shower and change.

Uncomfortable with the gaudy, extravagant style of the whole place, especially the pajamas, William sighed. " _The warm shower sounds nice_ ," he thought. As stiff and wearied as he was, William found that he didn't have the energy to fantasize about being with Julia while he was in the shower as he usually did. Although he regretted this as he was accustomed to the pleasure it brought him, he was also too depleted to be thrown for a loop by intrusive thoughts of the horrors and victimization he had seen, he had been through, and even he himself had perpetrated, on the pigs at least.

He emerged from the bathroom, clothed in the silk pajamas, clean and sleepy. Looking down at the bed, he fought to hold at bay his worries about being in this situation with Ettie – and with his own wife not knowing about it and being herself so worried about him. He told himself that Ettie knew he was a married man now, yet he was certain that it would be unwise to sleep in the bed with Ettie. He decided to make a place for himself to sleep on the floor. He leaned over to see if there was more than one blanket and…

There was a clicking of the key in the bedroom door behind him! _**It scared the daylights out of him**_ , surging flashes of terror which were re-ignited with the all too recent experience of having Armour walk in on him while he snuck about stealing evidence from the man's files that Adomas Baltavesky had worked there. The consequences of being caught had been dire, with him being nearly killed and, once again, almost sent down the meat-processing line, this time to become packaged into Christmas Hams. Reacting with the now familiar battle between fight or flight, William jerked to turn and face the door, already reaching for the nearby lamp as a weapon.

Terrence Meyers stepped into the room, his instincts jumping to defense with the unexpected sight of a man in Ettie's room about to attack. "Murdoch!" he declared. His mind couldn't possibly go fast enough to figure this out. " _What the hell was Murdoch doing in Ettie's room – in her_ _ **guest**_ _pajamas!?"_ his brain crusaded.

"Meyers!?" William exclaimed, "What are you doing here?" he asked.

Realizing he was no longer in mortal danger, Meyers relaxed and relief settled in. "Coming to get my razor," he replied.

William had seen a man's toiletries in Ettie's bathroom, figuring the man who had had to leave so quickly had forgotten them in the rush when he had been cleared out. He saw recognition of the situation on Meyer's face, only a second before he himself grasped what was going on. Meyers was the man who had been in Ettie's room… The one who had been in Ettie's bed… The one who had been kicked out to make room for – him.

For his part, Meyers' brain was solving things quickly too. William Murdoch was the very same man, the man Ettie had called, " _ **Will,**_ " who Ettie had spoken with on the phone a while back, while they were in bed together. Murdoch was the very same man on that phone who Meyers had sensed – that his Ettie – the woman he had had to admit to himself he had fallen in love with – that his Ettie, though he knew she would never be _only_ his – _My God, it was_ _Murdoch who was the man she was in love with… Unbelievable! William Murdoch!_

Meyers didn't have time for the raging thoughts of covetousness that followed his comprehension of all this, and yet they poured through him all the same – Murdoch had already won the one and only _**other woman**_ in the world that racked his very hold on life, Murdoch had married the only other astounding woman he had ever found, besides Ettie Weston, who had tempted him to fall in love. _My God, wasn't Dr. Julia Ogden good enough_ _for this… "How is it even possible,_ " he suddenly asked himself, " _that a man as straight-laced and boring as Murdoch could possibly get_ _ **two**_ _such outstanding women to fall in love with him? It just wasn't fair!"_

Both men stepped back, wanting time to think. "I, uh…" William started. "Miss Weston… um, knows some of the men I… well for this case… that I'm working on. She uh, I have known her for a long time," he said.

"Obviously," Meyers said eyeing the bed, and then Murdoch in her guest pajamas. His tone betrayed his jealousy, and that made him even more perturbed. Thinking he would have the upper hand if he stuck to business, for an elite government spy trumps a lowly detective anytime, he asked, "And which " _men_ " is it that you are looking to Miss Weston to… help you with detective?"

Challenged by the question, William acted spontaneously, which in his case tended to mean answering with the truth. "Uh… meatpackers, mostly," he said. A pang of fear, and also of guilt pounced on William, for he had remembered the _whack_ sound of the bronze pig cracking against Jonathan Armour's head… and he worried that he might have just implicated himself in the wealthy man's murder. Trying to draw Meyers' attention away from Armour, he added, "Like Davies and Burns," hoping to keep the conversation about Canadians.

Meyers was worried now, but from a professional perspective rather than a personal one. " _Perhaps Murdoch had gotten himself all messed up in this fiasco with the meat last summer…"_

And William suddenly remembered that he had thought Meyers was dead!

Speaking at the same time, William asked, "Didn't you die in Pendrick's rocket?" and Meyers said, "You'd best leave this whole meat business to the spies Murdoch."

Once again the men stood facing each other silently. Meyers moved first, taking a deep breath and walking into the bathroom to get his razor and other things. "I figured Pendrick wasn't planning on dying in his rocket – there had to be a way to survive. I found the flying suit… and figured out how to eject. Ended up in Borneo… Quite a bother really," he explained.

"I see," William answered. Truth be told, he liked Meyers, even though he wouldn't trust him with a ten-foot pole – or an eleven-foot one for that matter either. He was glad to learn that the peculiar spy had not met his demise. William considered letting Meyers' comment about, 'leaving the meat-packing business to the spies,' go by without addressing it. He probably should have. That would have been the smart thing to do and he knew it, but… his emotions had gotten the best of him. He wondered if maybe… maybe Meyers, being a top spy and all, well maybe such an important man for national security would have heard if someone had killed an important American toff like Jonathan Ogden and that this murderer was now on the run to Canada. He weakened and asked, "Um, Meyers…"

Meyers stood now in the bathroom door with his arms nearly full of various toiletry items. He paused and looked directly at Murdoch.

"Have you… heard anything, um, any news about any of the _American_ meat magnates?" William asked. He gestured towards the door, thinking he would need to help Meyers open it since his hands were so full.

The spy trouble-detector inside of Meyers had been alerted with Murdoch's question, but Meyers was well-trained and showed no sign of alarm or suspicion. " _Damn_ ," he thought, " _Murdoch_ _ **is**_ _tangled up in the mess from last summer! Darn it!_ " Meyers had not heard much of anything from the States for a while, so he would normally have answered the man's question in the negative, but he decided to gather more information before giving this away. Calmly, seemingly completely unattached to the answer, he asked, "Which man did you have in mind, Murdoch..?"

And then it hit Meyers like a brick! He wondered if Murdoch even knew?! _**If**_ the cigar-smoking spy had been forced to wager a guess, he would have figured that the detective _**didn't**_ know… Yes, that was his best guess, that Detective William Murdoch didn't know that one of the wealthiest, dirtiest, most slimy bastards in all of the USA, Jonathan Ogden Armour, was _**his very own first cousin**_. Suddenly he felt the surge of power in his chest, and strangely in his groin as well, for he would surely shock the man with the astounding truth that Murdoch was himself the kin of the worst, ' _meat magnate,_ ' in all the land. _Oh, Meyers had observed Murdoch for years. He knew that the man was passionately opposed to wealthy, abusive men on some deep, personal level. Meyers wondered if Murdoch himself was even aware of his own strong aversion to such men. In his manipulative spy-heart, Meyers had ascertained years ago that one of the best ways to get Detective William Murdoch to do what you wanted him to do was to show him how doing so would bring a cruel, power-mongering toff down._ Meyers forced himself to be tranquil, for sending this bombshell to its target clandestinely would ultimately arm it with the utmost power.

Meyers said, "I would think you would be most interested in _**your own kin**_ , Murdoch…" And he watched as confusion wrinkled Murdoch's brow, loving it, feeling the glee spew throughout his veins.

"Kin?" William asked, an eyebrow arching up.

"Yes of course, _your_ first cousin by marriage – Jonathan _**Ogden**_ Armour…" Meyers said slowly, milking each syllable. " _Magnificent!_ " he thought, " _Like he got punched in the stomach_."

The words landed, and sunk, and William's jaw dropped with the stun of it and the instantaneous lack of air to breathe, for William knew it was true – with his marriage to Julia he had become one of her family. And her family was full of wealthy men, and wealthy men, at least in William's opinion… wealthy men likely got wealthy at the expense of others. And now he was among them. And he could feel nothing but shame. This alteration in the way he could be in the world had just suddenly changed everything. He would be seen as such a man? William shook his head, trying to deny the truth of it, but he already knew he had failed.

And then the thoughts, memories, connections came, and he remembered that Julia and Ruby had spoken of their malicious cousin, Jonathan. Jonathan's mother was Julia's and Ruby's Aunt Malvina! She had come to their wedding! Wasn't it Armour who had sent that ostentatious Ming vase as a wedding gift – the one Julia donated to the museum!?

William's big brown eyes locked wide and burdened to Meyers' steely blue ones, with their pupils tiny and honed. William felt the sting, sensed it had been intentional.

"You're one of them Murdoch," Meyers said, digging the barb in. "You'd do just as well to ask your wife as me, I'd suggest, about any news of Jonathan Ogden Armour," he said, now walking to the door and waiting for Murdoch to open it for him. With a strut, Meyers left.

Irritated, William pulled a pillow and a blanket down onto the floor from Ettie's bed and turned out the light. He only hoped his exhaustion would lend him to sleep. Nestling down on top of the plush blanket, pulling one side up over himself for covers, he noted that the silk fabric of the pajamas felt surprisingly sumptuous. The world was such a strange place, he drifted off thinking… full of kith and kin and rivals and foes, and the boundaries between them so often got blurred… and he'd almost killed, for all he knew maybe he had actually killed, his own cousin… and for that matter, his own cousin had almost killed him. And he wondered, right before the nothingness surrounded him, how it could be that we are all one and the same in the end.

 **Author's note:**

 **Scientific understanding of contemporary genetics and sex chromosomes are quite different today than what Julia would have encountered when reading about it in 1904. Now we know that men have the same number of chromosomes as women, but that their Y-chromosome is much, much** _ **smaller**_ **than their X-chromosome. This is why scientists at the turn of the century saw the** _ **number**_ **of chromosomes as being a likely difference between the sexes. Fortunately for this story, the detection of a different** **number** **of chromosomes in the blood, as opposed to a significantly different** **size** **of one of the chromosomes in the blood would lead to the same, correct, gender identification. Thus I believe that Dr. Julia Ogden could have used the tests I described to identify the gender of an individual who had left a blood sample at a crime scene.**


	13. Chapter 13: WinnipegT

Chapter 12_Winnipeg_T

The knot of their entangled bodies pulled so tightly against her edges she couldn't breathe. She wanted him closer… much, much closer. " _Oh my God William, as hard as you can,_ " her insides begged and pulled and sucked at him. " _Touch me William, touch me harder_ ," Julia craved, lured, drew him in. William's colossal effort so humungous, so demanding, pounding forward, driving forward, deeper and deeper, with each of his primal thrusts his roaring, hot breath flared, grunting and pumping, closer and closer and closer, with all of his might he shoved onward. His mouth seized her earlobe ruggedly, forcefully holding her in place for his final surge as she pulled him tighter, "Hurry, please hurry… William," she alerted, summoned, urged, for it was…

Inevitable… the collapse had begun, the wave, the first phenomenal wave hovered, tilted her world, whooshing its silence as it soared her up so high… to reach the abysmal peak, the drop from such a mountainous height threatening her very survival, before the pleasure, the ecstasy, William's delicious moan in her ear, wave after wave of pleasure, sweet and hot, and everywhere hot, rocking her, filling and bursting through her every atom, into her soul, as he ragingly thrust and thrust and thrust on top of her, touched her so intimately, so completely. And she loved him so much that the tears had already started to come, delirious with reaching for a few more, sultry, sumptuous drops of him…

"Mm," she moaned again, "I love you William. Oh my God I love you," she whispered, feeling her lips grazing across the ridges of his ear, as she squeezed as tight as she could until… his rhythm ceased, completely used up, leaving stillness except for their thunderous, rushed, hot breathing… and she let go, molten and pliant, with her heart pounding ferociously, beating against him on top of her, and he felt her wet tears against his cheek, and he would hold her there, perfect and with him, riding the slowing ripples of their eruptious love."

His enchanting voice in her ear, he told her that he thanked God every day for bringing him such a remarkable woman, that he has loved her with all of his heart and all of his soul. He swallowed, his throat dry, adding playfully, "Worth the wait," he chuckled, for they both knew it had been a long one.

William rolled off of her, brought his head close to her belly, and spoke to their baby inside of her. His voice vibrating with just the right tone, pitch, harmonious with her essence, he shared, "Your mother thinks you can hear me, and I hope you can, because that gives me some hope that, no matter what, you will know that nothing ever made your father happier than when you came into our lives, and I love you my little baby, my beautiful little baby, with all of my heart. Your mother also thinks you can feel her emotions as they pump through her blood, mingling with yours, and if she's right, then you already know that I'm breaking her heart right now, leaving you both… But I know you'll have each other, and I know the love your mother and I have for each other, the profound, astounding, awesome power and warmth and vigor of it, cannot die with me – because of you little baby, and so I ask of you to be good to your mother," he had become choked up but he pushed out a whispered, "good-bye." Then he got up, dressed in his undercover hobo clothing, tossed his backsack over his shoulder, and without looking back, he left.

Julia rushed to the front room window. She pulled the curtain back and watched until he stepped up into carriage and then watched the carriage pull away. Around the bend – gone now – gone forever, the sight of its absence, the knowledge of it, crushing her down to her very core, bursting her into a deluge of tears.

Awakening, from the spasms of her weeping, Julia reached over in the dark seeking the bulk and presence of his pillow, longing to take in the smell of him from his soft pajamas… finding only that _nothing_ was all that was there, only emptiness, lonely and hollow. Her remembering of _the_ _reason_ that his pillow and his pajamas were not there – it came slowly at first, landing after the pain and the anger, drifting into her awareness, rocking with echoes, only then to smash in – hard, and she wept torrentially, for he was gone it was true – and he had left her planning to go to another… And maybe he didn't love her the way she had thought he had. And maybe it was all a lie. And she would never know… if he had loved her with all of his heart and with all of his soul.

))) (((

Torn, Ettie stood in the dim glowing light from the opened bathroom door looking down at William's blanketed, sleeping body on the floor. Her heart expanded with such force, throbbing with the heat of love. My God she cared for this man – like none other, ever. William's shivering concerned her. Reminding herself that he had been standing in the windswept tiny platform of a barreling train, in the teeming, freezing rain, for hours and hours on end, she felt a chill down her own spine as she tried to picture it. Aware of his body's struggle to get warm enough, she knew she needed to warm him up, and her imagining of cuddling close with him is what her mind offered up as a solution. Her body primally urged her to go to him.

And now, standing there looking down over him, the memory flashed of the first time – that she knew. It had been days after he had saved her life all those years ago, risking his own before her very eyes – taking on her monster. She thought she'd fallen in love with him then, for he was not only everything she had already fallen for, gorgeous, compassionate, so smart, focused, and my God the man was intense, but after his battle with her assailant she also knew that this man was brave and strong too. But then, a few days later, he had stopped by to let her know about the upcoming court case. He had stood there with her in her seedy little room, so handsome and kind. And he listened, really listened to her. She hadn't noticed that he had noticed, but her eyes had gotten stuck on Alice's fancy perfume bottle. William, too, had known Alice. They had met when Alice was still alive, and then Alice had been killed. Ettie was suffering intense grief with the loss of Alice, for she and Alice had been a team in the world – partners _against_ the world it seemed – for years. And Ettie had never felt as alone as she felt then, without Alice anymore. And as she stood there, her eyes fixed on Alice's perfume bottle and her heart cried with the loss, she heard William say through the mist and the pain, that she must miss Alice terribly…

And somehow, the grief just erupted inside of her, and bubbled up to the surface, and she heard her own voice, speak from the heart, a heart she herself had not known she had, that told of such love and such suffering and such loneliness… and she turned to look at him… and that's when it happened. Ettie saw that William's big, warm, brown eyes – his eyes were watery, glistening and reddened. There was such _**care**_ _for her_ in those beautiful eyes. And suddenly she was not alone anymore. It was as if she had been swept up in a deluge, completely flooding, out of her control, she was carried away, the currents, the torrents of the gushing emotions had her and she had no choice but to ride it out. Somehow she already knew that despite the magical, lovely hum of the rush, the dizzying, enticing spin of her gravity, that there would be a landing, and it would be a hard one. She already knew that she would never be the same. And although she had never thought it possible, she knew at that moment that she, Ettie Weston, the tough, stand-alone woman of the hard-knocks life, had fallen in love.

Ever so slightly, she remembered the wonderful feeling of it now, she had leaned forward towards him, feeling pulled in, but fighting it. And then suddenly she had found herself in his arms, her tears muffled by the heavenly strength of his shoulder. She was safe, as she had never, ever, been before in all of her days. She had cried and he had held her and the storm had passed. Then he had offered her his handkerchief, so gentlemanly and chivalrous. And then she had kissed him. And then he had kissed back. Her need to love him, to make this remarkable man feel good, to feel superbly loved, had overpowered her and she had ravaged him mercilessly, dragging him under, flooding him with her love and with her lustful powers of seduction and lustful completion… And in the end _she_ had been even more in love William Murdoch than before…

Now, still standing over him, her sigh announced her decision, reason prevailing; she would get him another blanket, she would not lay with him, for it was obvious that William did not want to lie, to sleep, _**with her**_. Their phone conversation from before he had left from Toronto replayed in her head. She had told him then that each of the rooms in her "Coffee House" has a _permanent_ occupant, a woman who serves customers, many of whom spend the night, thus no man could rent a room without also renting someone's company. Of course, William and his friend would not be paying for these accommodations, but still, she had explained to him that each of them would have to share a different room _with_ its occupant. Shaking her head to herself she reflected, " _He shouldn't have been surprised by the arrangement… but maybe he didn't expect to be in_ _ **my**_ _room_." She and he, they had a history. Perhaps it was for that very same reason that he expected _not_ to be with her. Coping with the disappointment as best as she could, she covered him with an extra blanket, resisting every powerful urge she felt to do more, and then crawled into her bed without him.

))) (((

Eloise used her key and let herself in. Before she went to the kitchen with her bags of groceries, she decided to check on the doctor, having found herself unable to sleep with worry for her all night. She dropped her packages on the table in the foyer and quietly headed up the stairs, listening intently for any signs from the troubled woman. Arriving at their closed bedroom door at the top of the stairs, she stealthily leaned against the door and held her breath, listening. Relief poured through her with the subtle sounds. Dr. Ogden was in the bathroom, water running and an occasional clank. " _Thank God_ ," Eloise thought, having had pictured the woman curled up in a fetal ball, crying her eyes out, having thrown-up all night, with her distress.

As quietly as possible, she went back downstairs to prepare breakfast. She hoped with all her might that the detective was fine, that he would come home soon. Eloise caught the sight of it, out of the corner of her eye, it causing her pause before she picked up her grocery bags. The pile of bedding the doctor had left by the couch for the detective once he returned, if he returned, the same pile still remained.

Whatever the man had done to make her angry, to hurt her so, Eloise was certain it was all a mistake. In all of her time on this Earth she had never seen a comparable love as theirs – and even more so, she had never even imagined it possible that a man could be so devoted to a woman as the detective was to the doctor. Eloise had followed their romance for years, having known and worked for the doctor since before she had left for Buffalo. Why, Eloise had often entertained notions of how differently things would have turned out if _she_ had been the one working for the Garland's rather than that vile woman who testified against Dr. Ogden at that godforsaken trial. So often she found she had wished she could have moved into the Garland household, bringing her husband along in tow – but it was not meant to be. Suffice it to say, however, that she knew that she didn't know everything, but she knew enough – the detective would never do anything to hurt Dr. Ogden, not if he could help it. " _My God, please get home soon detective. You've got to fix this mess up,_ " she thought to herself, shaking her head with the pain of it, pushing away any thoughts of his not ever returning at all.

A little while later, Julia limped towards the kitchen, her badly cut heel throbbing and currently housed in a pair of William's slippers. Thinking she was too upset to eat, she was considering different ways to break the news to Eloise, who had clearly worked hard to make her a good breakfast. The brightness of the kitchen caused her to squint, exaggerating the swelling of her face from all of her crying. Eloise turned to gaze upon her, her eyes drifting down to the odd choice of footwear.

"Oh, I uh…" Julia tried to explain, "Last night I…" the memory of the agony, not from the slicing open of her flesh when she had stepped on the broken locket, but more so from the dramatic suffering to her spirit from the reason she had broken it in the first place, it seemed to take all of the air out of the sunny room. Their eyes touched, and Julia had this strong urge to fall into the woman's arms.

She swallowed, pushed the feelings down to best handle them, to best cope. "Stepped on something, um… cut my foot," she said. Forcing herself to move on, she turned to look at the stove. "French toast!" she exclaimed, surprised she hadn't noticed the delightful smell of it earlier.

Eloise pulled out the doctor's chair at the breakfast table. "I figured it would be a good day to pamper you some, doctor," she replied. Eloise had known for years that French toast was the doctor's favorite.

Julia decided to brave telling her the truth, warning, "I'm afraid I don't have much of an appetite…"

The sadness in her statement broke Eloise's heart even more. "Well for the little one then, hmm?" Eloise encouraged, using the term she had heard the doctor herself use so often when addressing her unborn child, hoping to connect with her, and to bring the anguished woman's attention to something happier.

Surprisingly, Julia discovered she was famished with the first few bites of the delicious comfort food. She had not eaten anything of significance since receiving Ettie Weston's phone call the day before, and she seemed determined to make up for the absence all in this one sitting.

After eating a hearty second helping, Julia thanked Eloise profusely. She brought a loving smile to the older woman's face when she asked if she could make the same meal for dinner tonight as well.

"It comforts you, eases some of the pain? Eloise asked, seeing tears instantly fill the doctor's eyes with the grace of receiving another's compassion. Contagious that emotion, Eloise felt the heat and the swelling in her own eyes as well and unconsciously she tilted her head, and just a little, she opened her arms, and Julia whimpered, breaking her heart even more, and unable to hold herself back, Julia collapsed into the woman's hugging embrace.

"It'll be alright. I'm sure he'll be home soon. You'll see," Eloise soothed as she held the shaking woman and cupped her head, and stroked her wavy curls.

Powerfully and quickly, the waves passed and Julia soon felt the relief of having shared her burden with another. "Thank you," she said, sniffling and drying her eyes with Eloise's dishtowel, confident that Eloise truly knew the value of her kindness. "The baby furniture is coming today," Julia said, changing the subject, trying so hard.

"Wonderful," Elise offered.

Julia made her best effort at a smile and thanked her again and then took her leave.

Only a few minutes later, Eloise was nearly finished cleaning up in the kitchen, her plans for the day running though her head, she had much to do, all of the upstairs cleaning today. She pondered suggesting to the doctor that she take up her experiment again. It had seemed to excite her so, before the dreadful phone call came. _Perhaps it would be best if she didn't bring it up_ …

The phone rang, and she couldn't help it, she felt such a fear and a dread with the sound. She tried to change her reaction, _perhaps it was the detective calling to say he was fine, that he would be home soon_ , Eloise thought as she rushed to the foyer to get it.

The sight when she arrived, it was devastatingly painful. The phone still rang. The doctor and Eloise's eyes met across the room, bouncing from each other to the phone and back again. There was such terror in the doctor's eyes… But mostly, the pain of it sank deeper and deeper into Elise's heart as she processed it, figured it out, what it was that the doctor had been doing when the phone had started to ring…

It seemed that Dr. Ogden must have stepped close to the detective's coat, and his maroon scarf, and his hat, all hanging, empty, without him, on the coat rack… And she must have stepped up to them, and let her face sink into the plush fabric, to be surrounded as much as possible by him, by his scent, by his memory. She had pulled the outer edges of the coat, its sides, its arms, around her, trying to get herself as deeply nestled into it as possible, and she'd wrapped the soft, maroon scarf around her neck, pulled it up close to her nose. She had been weeping there, missing him…

"I can't," the doctor said, her eyes pleading… begging for Eloise to be strong enough to answer the phone, but more so for what she feared so much _not to be true_. " _Please no. Please no,_ " her head had been screaming the mantra with the incessant rings. All form of reason had failed to un-stun her, having told herself that, if it were truly bad news, a man like the Inspector wouldn't call, he would come here in person, ring the doorbell, offer her his shoulder to her with such unbearable news, and yet still, she could not move.

"It's the Inspector," Eloise said, holding the phone out to her. Listening, there was neither sigh of relief nor collapse into despair. Somehow, even though he had, "good news," that none of the myriad of constables checking every inch of every train route from here to Winnipeg had found anything, meaning no bodies and no reports of any wrongdoing, and yet, somehow his call offered her no relief. William was still missing. William could still be dead, or hurt somewhere, and she might never, ever see him again, might never know what had become of him, and she would have to live without him, and she just knew down to her bones that she couldn't, and that she would, for there was a baby coming, and it was William himself who had fathered it, and she already loved this baby so, and it would need her, even more without him… And still, everything was _not_ alright, and it wouldn't be, until she could breathe again, until he was here with her… not till then. It seemed, for now, that her hurt had been harbored, so overshadowed by her missing him.

) (

Upstairs cleaning their bedroom, Eloise found the half of the golden locket on the doctor's vanity. Taking the tiny treasure in her hand, feeling its importance, she examined it. The chain still hung from the top of it. Inside was an older picture of the doctor, and it was obvious to her that somewhere in the world there existed the other half – and it would have his picture, and it would likely also be from as long ago as hers. A tiny square-shaped piece of metal stuck up rigidly at its edge, torn from its matching notch. Now it seemed – to wait. On it there was blood. Eloise almost gasped as she re-ran the picture of the doctor down in the kitchen this morning – her feet inside his roomy slippers. " _Perhaps she broke it last night and then stepped on it!_ " Eloise wondered.

She took up the hunt, searching the room's every nook and cranny for the detective's half of the locket. She moved the vanity over, and then his bureau. And there it was, complete with a matching piece of metal sticking up as well, reaching for, waiting for, missing, its notch too. " _The detective will be able to fix it, I'm sure,_ " she thought as she carefully placed it next to its other half.

))) (((

When William awoke the next morning, the smell of mouth-watering pancakes and eggs, and bacon permeating his nostrils, seeping down into his brain, his stomach, and his hunger announced itself. He stirred, thinking on the fact that the makeshift bed had been quite comfortable.

"Are you awake, William?" Ettie's voice came from behind him up on her bed.

"Mm-hmm," he answered. "Is that breakfast I smell?" he asked, his voice dry and scratchy from deep sleep, as he rubbed his eyes and then turned onto his side better facing her.

Through her smile, finding that her heart was swelling and warming again, she replied, a tone of teasing with her words, "It is a _**coffee house**_ after all, Will. My customers expect the quality of the cooking to match the quality of the _other_ services I provide…" She lifted her covers and moved towards his temporary bed on the floor, "Services I believe _you_ have not yet had the privilege of indulging in, _Mr. Codrum_ ," Ettie's sexy voice added, as she slipped under the blanket, joining him on the floor.

William's heart began to race, danger and excitement charging him. Ettie Weston had always had a way of throwing him off guard. Now, here, once again he found himself dumbfounded, flustered, stunned – caught in her net, wanting and not wanting to be there. Choices began to run through his head – tell her 'no' _now_ before it's too late, get up _now_ before it's too late… " _Whatever you do, don't look down at her bosom!_ " he yelled his advice to himself. He failed in this endeavor however, the jolt to his groin attesting to the power of the view. The fabric of her negligee… absolutely breathtaking… translucent and so, so, tight. It made his head spin and swirl, and his breathing rush. The curves of the two sumptuously creamy orbs, delicious and moldable, made his fingers itch, his jaw muscles tighten, as he fought his urges to touch, to taste, to squeeze.

Ettie slid in to lie on her side next to him, sharing his covers, her chin in her hand, propped up on her elbow, matching her posture to his, and they looked at each other eye-to-eye. "Remember when we used to lie together like this for hours, exploring each other, hmm?" she asked inching closer, surging his head into screaming its warnings at him now. "Touching, traveling, every avenue of each other, getting to know each other intimately – mind and…" Ettie raised an eyebrow at him, tempting him with her mischief, and such an enticing sparkle, "…body… Oh, most definitely body," she said her warm breath pouring between them as she said it, surrounding him, capturing him within its primitive, humid lure.

Hovering too close to the flame, William took exception to her statement, feeling the need to remind her, to remind himself, of the boundaries they had drawn, now leaning in closer to her to give his professorial lecture, his tenor now private, almost a whisper, he corrected, "We didn't "lie" and "know" in the _biblical_ sense... well, not absolutely I mean," William's face blushed and he needed to clear his throat drawing even more attention to his uneasiness with his own comment, but he continued, "I mean we…" he paused, this was going to be harder for him to say than he had expected. He had been considering saying that they had only used Plan C… back then, but he knew Ettie would have no idea what he meant by "Plan C," and there was no way he was going to actually _describe_ what they had done over a decade ago when they had each pleasured each other.

She had seen it though, a quick flash, of William's discomfort – miniscule but present, and the pink flush had suggested to her that he felt ashamed of the memory. Ettie assumed his distress was with his remembering how naïve and inexperienced he had been back then. The memory of how young, and vulnerable, and truly beautiful he had been all those years ago, it made her smile. In all her days she had never known anyone so lovely. _Oh, and her womb twisted and throbbed in anticipation_ with the memories, for with these memories came her awareness of the fact that _she knew_ that, with William Murdoch, when that little barrier of shame was disabled – such disabling being a skill for which Ettie knew she had always been a master – she knew that in William Murdoch's case, once that shame was overcome… then what was there to be discovered, and enjoyed, was a man who was bursting with joie de vie, tender, and savage and open and willing to learn. This man had always been a master of self-control and _my God_ was he motivated to use that self-control to improve the lovemaking, not only for himself but for her as well – and capable… and, _Oh My,_ this man had always, always been so very, very delicious. Ettie marveled with the intensity of her arousal. She wanted him and she wanted him deeply, her insides nearly shouting with their urgency.

She slid closer, and he felt a stir down below, his breath catching, his groin rising. She touched the top button on his silk pajama top, popping it opened, and said, "But now Will, now we could..." Her lips, her breath, suspended, surging him, spinning him, stealing his breath with the danger… Her soft bosom pillowed against his chest, through the thin veneer of her negligee – the stark contrast between her pliable, supple flesh and his muscular, rigid tone sending William's groin into high alert. Her fingers slipped into his hair. Her voice unfamiliar and yet remnant in the same moment, "We could do _that_ now, lie together, in the biblical sense." And with that her lips took his, luscious, soft, warm, rhythmically enticing him to open to her as her hot breath flooded over him, and he felt more of her magnificent curvy body push solidly against him, and her velvety tongue lingered and coaxed, so wet, and soft.

William surrendered, and he kissed back, his brain hollering with all its might for him to lean back, to stop, _**stop**_! Ettie's hand – now, with her fingers delicate on his neck, next kneading and grabbing at his pectoral muscle, now his stomach… Only seconds more and he would not be able to deny it, how aroused he was. Terror flooded!

William pushed her away, ceasing her progression, and he hurried to explain, "Ettie, I can't."

So fast, William was alone in his sea of blankets and pillows on the floor. Ettie had run for the bathroom, crying, William immediately on her heels. He stopped her, turned her to face him in front of the bathroom door. _Wham_ … William felt his body react to the sight of her. He had not seen a shapely, nearly naked, woman – at least not one that was _not_ very, very pregnant – for quite some time. He prayed the pajama bottoms cloaking him were not as revealing as he feared. He swallowed and prepared to talk, his eyes wide and holding firmly to hers, with the back of his mind working to get a handle on his male urges.

It was Ettie's voice that spoke first. He noticed, the thought panicking his gut with guilt for subconsciously it reminded him of Julia, that Ettie's voice did _not squeak_ when she was upset. "I have loved you Will for so long, and I have never quite understood it, I mean you are just a man, like any other," Ettie told him, pausing to question herself on this fact, the intellectual effort of doing so calming her. She went on, "Well not really like any other. It is rare that a man who is as handsome as you, and smart and brave… but mostly what you are Will…" her eyes met his again, "is kind, sensitive to the world. My God I've loved you so long. And I always knew…" She shook her head at the sadness of it, rejecting her own love, disregarding it as unworthy, and she continued, "I always knew…"and her crying resumed, "that I would only be in your way…" Choked-up again, she pushed herself to say, "An upstanding man, Will, you truly are, you always have been. And I knew it would never work – me – with who it is that I was, that I… am."

Ettie couldn't help but show her shame, her hurt with not being good enough for him, and tears formed and poured down her cheeks once more. She swallowed, fighting to find her voice for she was overwhelmed by the humiliation and by the power of her emotions, "I used to give you such a hard time about your thinking you were too good for me… I don't know if you did think you were, maybe you always have thought so, maybe you still do I guess, but _**I thought it**_ Will. _**I thought it**_ … I have always thought it," she cried, so desperate for air now she had to stop take a breath.

He had never known her to be abundant with her words, even less so with her feelings. It had always been something he had thought they had had in common. And now seeing it… her turmoil, her obvious, nearly unbearable, pain, it tugged violently at his heart.

She went on, surprising both of them, "Well, obviously, it has been a long time since… since I have entertained the thought that you might… care for me… But, well, I started thinking that maybe you weren't so happy, um, in your marriage," she hurried to explain, "I mean the papers say it's a fairytale romance and all between you and… her. My God, look at the way the two of you professed your love for each other at her trial for instance… But still I often wondered. I mean, you just didn't seem the type to me Will, to marry a wealthy, sophisticated…" Ettie thought about holding back, hiding her ugly jealous envy and distaste for his wife, but she had pulled back the veil now, and it was too late, so she said it, "…snob," she finished her sentence assertively. "And if you weren't happy, but you were married… Well, I'll have you know most of the men here _are_ married Will…" she said, pausing to make sure he would get her point, that he would put two and two together about what it is that the mostly married men do in brothels, and she went on, "And then… Well you didn't tell your wife that you were meeting _**me**_ here, kept her in the dark about the fact that you would be staying _**with me**_ here. And I thought that meant… Of course, now I know I was wrong, but I thought it meant that you _**did**_ love me and you were hiding it from her… and I thought that now that you were a married toff, and you were free from having the world judging who you spend your time with… you, now an upstanding man married to an upstanding woman. Well, no one would expect such an affair… and no one would care much if such a man had taken a mistress anyway… And I just thought, you and I would finally have a chance. But now I know I was wrong… And I'm sorry, and I'm embarrassed, and mostly I just had gotten my hopes up so high… and I'm so truly devastated Will," she finished, fixing her eyes to his, waiting, teetering on the edge of falling into sobbing or falling into his arms.

Silent now…

So much had gone through his mind while she had been speaking, revealing her darker insecurities, wearing her heart out on her sleeve. And yet now he was speechless. William's eyes found Julia's photograph on the floor, sticking out from under the blankets. He had taken it out of his backsack the night before, concerned that all the rain might have damaged it, and grateful for its survival, he had allowed himself the pleasure of looking at Julia's image for a while before he had turned out the light and yielded to sleep.

William's voice started slow and soft, "It is a fairytale, Ettie," he said, "what Julia and I have… together. I have loved Julia for a very long time. I have loved her like I never thought it was possible to love someone…" William walked over and leaned down to pick up Julia's picture, Ettie seeing it and almost gasping with the significance of it being there, next to him while he had slept. "The last time you saw me in Toronto, years and years ago, when one of the women who worked for you in your "Music Academy," had been killed…" he went on, lifting his eyes off of the picture to meet hers, "I was crazy in love with her… by then."

"Did she love you too… that long ago?" Ettie asked, "I mean Will, it was years and years before you married her – the time you speak of was many years before even the whole trial where it came out about your affair."

William thought about correcting Ettie's belief that he and Julia had had an affair, back before Darcy had been killed by Gillies. He figured her believing that he had had an affair would only provide fuel for the fire Ettie already had kindled for him, making it more likely for her to expect that he would be opened to having an affair with _her_ now – for if he were willing to do so once before, if he were willing to marry a woman who had had an affair while she was married to another, why not again, why not with her? But, the conversation had moved on, and he had missed the opportunity.

"I'd wager she fell for you when you saved her from that monster… that ghoulish man who had buried her alive… when she was still married to that American toff doctor – the same one who so brilliantly framed her for his murder, nearly got her hung, if not for you?" Ettie asked, revealing that she had followed his life closely over the years.

William wrinkled a corner of his mouth, admitting to himself, to her, that there was so very much to their story, to the story of his and Julia's love. "No, actually, she says it was long before that for her too…" he began his tale, carefully tucking Julia's picture back into his backsack. "Julia was already in love with me when you first met her, although I didn't know it, when she served as the pathologist on that same case, the one with the judge and the artist. She says she fell in love with me when she was almost killed by a different man. A sadistic killer," William raised an eyebrow as he spoke, reflecting on the brutality and threat that had been posed by James Orville, "a man who we believe might have been Jack-the-Ripper." For a moment, William's mind threatened to run off on this tangent, wondering to himself why he hadn't pursued his suspicions of the significance of the culprit in this case at the time, but Ettie's voice pulled him back.

"So then it is as I thought, another woman who fell for you after you saved her life," she said, implying that his doing so in _her own_ case had been part of _her_ falling in love with him.

"No," William responded quickly, "Julia killed that man… in self-defense." He did not plan on going into Julia's story, from when he had helped her through her traumatic reactions after Orville had tried to kill her, his being trustworthy and caring of her then being the spark that Julia claims had pushed her into the tumble of falling in love with him.

"Oh," Ettie replied. It appeared to her that this Julia Ogden of his must be a stronger woman than Ettie had originally thought. Perhaps she had judged the woman harshly. Jealousy was not very familiar to her, and she was coming to accept that her feeling such jealousy would likely have clouded her judgement and made her prone to holding to ideas of this Dr. Ogden that would be far from flattering, wanting to believe that the one who William truly loved – instead of her – was not worthy of him.

There was a brief pause…

William found himself pondering about Meyers in all this. He had not really thought about it last night – too tired, too much else going on – but now that he did, his instincts told him that Meyers was quite in love with Ettie. William began to nod slightly to himself, thinking, " _Yes, Meyers had definitely behaved as if he was jealous of me, last night, finding_ _ **me**_ _here, in Ettie's room, in_ _ **pajamas**_ _, about to get into_ _ **her bed**_ _._ "

Deciding to bring it up, he started, "Ettie it seems to me that there is someone who feels… jealous, um, jealous when he thinks that someone else has eyes for _you_ …"

"I promise you Will, no one," Ettie immediately interrupted, certain there was no one in the world who cared for her so exclusively.

"I beg to differ," William explained, "He came here last night, before you… Uh, right after I had my shower. Ettie… Terrence Meyers, he seemed to be incredibly jealous when he came here last night."

"You know Terrence?" she asked, avoiding William's point. _William felt a pang of compassion being stirred in him for Meyers, for didn't Ettie's avoiding discussing Meyers' jealousy of anyone interested romantically in her indicate that she did not feel the same way about him?_

He refocused, "Yes, I know him. And that is not the point, Ettie. He…" William nodded his head, agreeing with himself, encouraging himself to hold to his argument. "He is clearly a man in love, and not sure what to do about it." For the briefest moment, William remembered the many years he was in the same state over Julia. _My God_ , he thought, grateful now for how fortunate he had been that in the end Julia had felt the same way about him as he had felt for her. That was part of the magic of their story, he guessed.

Ettie countered, claiming, "Terrence Meyers will never love any woman. It would mess up his spying," she said.

To William, it sounded like Ettie had been hurt, felt neglected by Meyers. _Perhaps Meyers had not done very well at telling her how he felt…_ William almost laughed out loud at the recognition, once again, of how much Meyers was like himself, and how the man's behavior with Ettie was so similar to how he had been with Julia.

Stubbornly, Ettie went back to her feelings about him. "When you married her Will, I was convinced the reason you couldn't love me was because I was just a lowly whor…"

He stopped her, unwilling to let her degrade herself so, grasping hold of her shoulders. And she looked into his face, and her heart broke some more, for she saw that he did care for her… and it hurt so… that it would never be more than that.

She pulled herself free, and offered, "I told myself that you must have wanted a toff after all."

"No…" William started to object.

"I thought you married her for money, and when you didn't tell her you were coming to me… I… I really thought that you loved me after all," Ettie started to cry again, "that we… we would have an affair…"

William took a hold of Ettie's upper arms again, held her eyes to hers. He shook his head, passionately rejecting her claims, he explained, "No, no Ettie. I love Julia… terribly, devastatingly. She is my very life. All the toff stuff, all the money and all the stuffiness, and servants and all that, it only adds complications… and causes fights, sometimes. It's not what I wanted. I uh, I only ever wanted her… despite so much that seemed to be put in our way, I only ever wanted her, Ettie." His eyes seemed to beg for her to understand, to see.

Ettie stepped back, freeing herself from his grip, his insistence. She needed to stand alone, as always, she was alone. She knew that now. She needed to put back up the walls, find her own inner strength – like always. Taking a deep breath, building her resolve, she said, with sadness lingering in her tone, and adding a little self-deprecating chuckle, "Deep down I knew you wouldn't marry for money, Will. Your heart is too good for such motives to drive you."

She moved even further away, picking up the pillows and blankets on the floor – as ever getting back to work. She spoke without looking at him, more to herself, perhaps, than to him. "I love you Will… have since back then…" Her eyes jumped up at him suddenly, driven to be honest, she said, "I love you now, though I know my love will go unanswered."

"You know Ettie, I have told you… I love Julia… We're having a baby. I can't…"

Ettie's chin jutted up, "I know. I know Will. I definitely know… And I have told you that I am devastated about it. And we are done there. Are we not?!" she demanded.

All at once relief and regret and he wasn't sure what else, but it seemed there was quite a lot, flooded through him. "We are," he admitted, wrinkling up a corner of his mouth as he characteristically tended to do when his words could not wholly express what he felt. He picked up the blanket, helping her with the task.

Suddenly it hit him hard, surging small chills of panic in his core. "Ettie," he asked, trying with all his might to stay calm, "How did you know I didn't tell Julia I would be staying here with you?"

He could tell he had failed in hiding his fear by her expression as she said, also speaking deliberately, slowly, trying to lend towards calm. "We, uh, we spoke," she said.

 _Oh, that was not good_ , William's mind scurried in multiple directions, hearing the high-pitched note of dread begin to play in his head, starting his heart to race. Aware Ettie had continued to speak, William coached himself to listen, to pay attention.

"… I mean Will, a maid answered your phone. Why wouldn't I think you had become a toff, just like your cousin over there in the States. But then… well she was so shocked when I told her that you had planned to meet me here. That's why I thought you did that on purpose – intentionally keeping it a secret from her – so we could safely have our affair…"

"You what?" he begged her for it not to be true.

Looking worried, Ettie repeated, "I called your home and spoke to your wife and told her that I was worried because you had not shown up here as you had planned to do."

"You did what!? Why?!" he exclaimed, his eyes threatening tears and his throat seeming to close up with fear.

Defending herself, now feeling regret for all of the glee she had had with his wife's distress before, Ettie explained, "Because you were missing, Will. I was worried. And then I thought maybe you decided not come and just didn't bother to call to tell me. Either way, I wanted to know, whether to be hurt and angry or worried. Turned out it was worried."

William was terrified, knowing Julia would be sick with worry. " _I have to call her,_ " he screamed at himself. As William imagined calling Julia, _after_ she had found out that he had planned – and he would have to tell her that now he was – staying with Ettie, it sent his insides into tumultuous nausea. " _She will be upset_ , he thought, " _My God,_ _I'm going to throw up_."

"Ettie, I have to call her," he said, his eyes pleading with her.

Ettie's eyes drifted over to the nightstand by her bed, to the phone. "I'll… I need to go downstairs and make sure all is on track," she told him, knowing he would want to be alone for the call.

Gratitude flooded over William's face. "Thank you," he said simply. It took all William had not to wring his hands.

Ettie opened one of the closets in the room and said, "Most of the clothing in here will fit you, maybe not the shoes…" Ettie leaned down and lifted a pair of cowboy boots into the air – this was Winnipeg after all. "Size 9," she offered.

"Thank you Ettie," William replied, his heart still racing with panic in his chest, "You've been more than kind," he said, with a small bow.

As soon as her bedroom door closed, William stepped to the phone, imagining what Julia would be doing when it rang in Toronto, considering the time difference, knowing it was later there. " _Maybe Eloise would be out shopping,_ " he thought. He sat on her bed and started to dial, suddenly jumping up to stand, instead, once he heard the phone start to ring. Sitting on Ettie Weston's bed, of all things, would be completely intolerable during this conversation – actually this whole conversation scared the hell out of him.

))) (((

A bundle of dirty clothes in her arms, Eloise was halfway down the stairs when the phone rang. She couldn't help but remember the intensity of the concern on the doctor's face earlier when the phone had rung. Eloise put the pile of laundry down on the table near the phone in the foyer, and lifted the receiver. "Murdoch – Ogden residence," she answered.

The detective's voice, she'd know it anywhere, and the beautiful tone of it surged her heart more than she could have imagined it would, rendering her dizzy, feeling intoxicated, needing to place her hand down on the table to stabilize her balance. She would never remember what it was he had actually said, only that it was him, and he was alive, and the doctor had been saved!

"Detective," she nearly screamed into the phone, "we were so worried… Thank the Lord, you're alright… You are alright, sir?" she asked.

 _William heard it in her voice, she had been frightened, and if Eloise had been that worried, how scared must Julia had been. Intense guilt and regret filled him. Of course she was terrified, particularly after Ettie called saying something had gone wrong, that he hadn't shown up like he had planned…_

"I'm so sorry," he said. "I'm fine. Um, Eloise, is Julia there? Is she alright?" he asked, suddenly worrying that something might have gone wrong with the baby… with her being so upset…

"She has been having a hard time detective, but she'll be so glad to hear your voice," Eloise now felt she had best hurry. "I'll get her, sir," she said, and then placed the receiver down.

Eloise's footsteps pounded on the staircase down into the basement, alerting Julia to the hope. She had heard the phone, knew Eloise would have answered it. " _She wouldn't run so if it was bad news_ ," Julia told herself, feeling her heart start to flutter.

"Dr. Ogden," she called. Julia was already heading up the stairs…

"Is it William?" she asked excitedly.

"It is," Eloise declared, "It's him, doctor!"

Tears glistened her eyes. "Oh thank God!" Julia whispered to herself, her hand covering her heart as she felt it skip a beat, feeling that she was actually thanking Him… Thanking William's God… He felt real to her in that moment. By the time she reached the top of the stairs, stood over the phone, it gurgled up from her depths… the emotion arriving before the thought, she remembered that he had hurt her, that she was angry with him. Overwhelmed by it all, but needing to hear his voice more than anything else in the world, she took a deep breath and lifted the receiver. Her voice declared her highly emotional state with its customary squeaky tone.

"William? Are you alright?" she asked. And there it was, his voice, and the world seemed to spin with the floating relief of it while at the same time she had never felt so solidly grounded as in this moment when she had the guarantee that he was alive, he was still there, his magnificent, perfect voice in her ear.

"Julia, I'm fine. I'm so sorry to have frightened you so, Julia…"

"William, Oh, thank God…" her voice almost whispered to herself, "William, it's you. You're alive. You're alright…" Julia cried, over and over, reassuring herself. "William," her tears started to flow.

"I am. I'm fine Julia. You, the baby?" he asked.

"Fine William, fine," she answered, but her jaw was locking, her anger had caught up. _How dare he act like he had been worried about her?_ The upset squeak was gone now.

William sensed the change in her tone, suddenly desperate with the need to explain. He hurried, justifying the delay, "George and I got on the wrong train – went to Chicago instead…" In the back of William's mind, the images and memories ran through him so fast it made him dizzy – Sin and then Clegg and hiding in the retching garbage and the jungle and Jack and Flannel Bull and the boy being taken and then the pigs and repeating the sin of torturing them again and again, and getting caught in Armour's office, and then, _Oh my God had he killed the man? He still didn't know_ – and Armour was Julia's cousin! And then escaping his imminent capture in the USA, getting stuck outside in the freezing rain while the train hurled through the night, and Meyers and Ettie, and being tempted to – but never, really he would never!

Somehow William had managed to continue to speak with all that flooding through his brain, "But we got a break on the case in Chicago. I have evidence now…"

Julia felt it, her rage surging towards the surface. If she stayed on the phone with him much longer she would explode. She interrupted him, her tone curt, that being the best she could do, "I know it is risky for you to call William, that I have to let you go. And I suppose you made it to Miss Weston's brothel as you had planned all along, or you wouldn't have called at all, and for that, I would ask that you please thank her for me… _**Will**_. Good-bye."

The phone receiver was back in its cradle so quickly, she couldn't tell whether or not he had tried to stop her or was left stunned and silent as she expected of him with her veiled attack. Her fury had hit, and she really, really didn't care. Julia felt Eloise watching her, was sure she heard the woman gasp. She wanted to break something, having a witness to her loss of control only angered her more. "Arghh!" she screamed and groaned as she punched the table. She marched over to the coat rack, where only an hour ago she had longingly wrapped herself in his pseudo-presence. Grabbing his beloved homburg, she charged for the front door, having every intention of throwing his treasured hat in the garbage before the city trash wagon collected it from the street. She saw Eloise out of the corner of her eye, throw her hands over her mouth, stifling her cry somewhat.

"Doctor, no," the other woman declared under her self-imposed muzzle.

Julia flung open the door to be hit in the face with the windswept freezing rain and hail – for the storm that had entrapped William and George, nearly freezing them to death, had traveled east and now pelted Toronto. Wearing only her dress and his slippers, Julia rushed into the storm, barreling for the trash can at the end of their front path with his hat. Arriving to find that the trash had already been collected, she kicked the can ferociously with her injured foot, somehow repeatedly enjoying the physical pain ensued by the act, somehow feeling she deserved it, that it matched what she felt in her soul.

"Goshdarnit!" she screamed at the world. "Darn William Murdoch! Darn him!" she screamed again, but the hate of it, the anger of it, the pain of it, collapsed her fury and she fell apart, dropped down onto her knees into the frigid puddled street, crying.

Eloise scooped her up. "Come now doctor. You'll catch yourself your death out here in this," the woman said as she helped Julia stand, retrieved the empty garbage pail, and led her back into the house. Eloise placed the trash can in its spot under the porch before they rushed up the front steps, being paused by Julia as she tossed his homburg into the empty, stinky can.

"I'm so infuriated with him Eloise," Julia explained, feeling weak and embarrassed now that the energy of the emotional thunder and lightning has passed.

Heartbroken and unable to find words, Eloise took her under her arm and guided her back into the house. Acknowledging Julia's suffering, she said to her, "I know. I know," wishing she could once more take her into her arms and help take away the pain. They rushed upstairs to the bedroom and got Julia out of her soaking-wet clothes and then into a hot bath. Julia insisted that Eloise too remove her wet clothing, offering her a warm nightgown and robe to use in the meantime. They would use the laundry cupboard and clean Eloise's clothes for her to change back into later.

Sadness enveloped Eloise as she closed their bedroom door, her wet clothes in her arms, hearing the doctor start to cry again. In the foyer, Eloise hesitated entertaining the idea of saving the detective's hat. " _No_ ," she thought, " _That's the doctor's decision, not mine_ ," and she headed for the kitchen. _The detective was such a marvelous man_ , she thought as she placed the drenched clothing into the laundry cupboard, _brilliant with all his inventions. It's so hard to believe he would…_ " she shook her head, uncertain what it is he had done really, _but it involved another woman – this Miss Weston, and a brothel, and it seemed it was truly dire, and it was so, so hard to believe of the man_.

)) ((

Sitting at a small table in the café-section of "Miss Weston's Coffee House," George and William were talking over a hearty breakfast. It was taking enormous effort for William to push away his feelings, to focus on the case at hand. The best he could do was coach himself that he would have to fix things with Julia later, feeling so distraught however, by intrusive thoughts about whether it would ever be truly fixable or not. He looked around the little café, noticing that Meyers was speaking with Burns off at a table in the corner.

"Did you sleep well sir?" George asked, lifting his coffee cup to his lips for a sip.

"Uh… Yes," he answered, adding, "I slept on the floor George," hoping to quell any thoughts the man had had about his being involved with Ettie.

"Oh, I see," George replied, wrinkling a corner of his mouth – as William himself was prone to do, suggesting to William that George was admitting that he had been wondering about just that.

"You George?" William asked.

Rarely had William seen George blush. Thus, he rested his fork and listened intently.

George whispered, leaned close. William's eyes darted momentarily to Meyers over in the corner – the man was highly involved in his own conversation, and for a moment, William wondered what they were discussing, but he turned back to George. "I, uh, well sir… It is hard for me to say, really. Um, well sir, I… I had the company of… two lovely women last night…"

William's eyebrow shot up! " _Two_ , George?" he repeated.

"Yes sir. It seems my escort prefers… There was a name for it…"

"A ménage a trois, George," William offered.

"Yes! That was it… sir," George responded.

"I see," William said, hoping desperately to change the subject. "Um, our friend Mr. Meyers is here," he said, eyeing Meyers and Burns' table in the corner, drawing George's eyes and attention that way.

"Who is that he's speaking with?" George asked.

"Edward Burns," William replied, getting a nod of recognition from George implying that he understood the significance of Canada's most powerful meat magnate being in the same room with them – and meeting with Meyers at that.

"Do you think Meyers has noticed us?" George asked, sounding alarmed.

Immediately the image of Meyers in Ettie's room with him last night flashed into William's mind as he replied, "Mm, possibly," and nodded his head. They made small talk, noticing that Ettie, who had been stopping by at each table, had approached Meyers and Burns and started up a conversation with them. George was going on and on about some idea for a book that had come to him, while William's mind wandered. In his imagination he sat next to Inspector Guillaume in a carriage and they were discussing William's taking Julia on as his mistress, while she would be married to Darcy. William reasoned it was George's brush with his own ménage a trois that had brought on this particular memory of his, for the Frenchman had had, not only a somewhat temporary mistress, but also his own wife, in the bedroom with him when William had arrived at the man's hotel room. The world just seemed so odd to William sometimes, that it would be commonly accepted, this idea of loving more than one person. It was what Ettie had expected of him. He still couldn't fathom it.

George pulled his attention, bringing up something about the case. "What George?" William asked, "My mind was off somewhere else."

"One of the women last night, sir," George lowered his voice, "She said she met a different man who had been hired by Davies, not Adomas sir, this guy was Irish, older…"

"And frequented prostitutes, George. Adomas wouldn't do that," William added.

"Right sir," George replied and went on, "She said this man told her, bragged about all the money he was going to make… told her he was going to be the one to destroy Davies' competition for him, get rid of Canada's "Cattle King," I believe that's a nickname they use for Burns sir," George added.

"That's very interesting George," William wondered aloud. "I had thought that it was Adomas who was hired…"

Ettie had made her way to their table now. "Mr. Codrum. Mr. Flowers. How are you finding everything?" she asked pleasantly.

"It is quite delicious," William replied.

George added, " _Everything_ has been…" suddenly seeming to lose his voice, feeling exposed, he scratched out, "mam."

Ettie ducked her chin and broke into a knowing smile, sending William's brain into a personal whirlwind for the look reminded him strongly of an expression he so often saw Julia make, often at him. "I'm glad you are enjoying your stay, Mr. Flowers. Let me know if there is anything else I can do…"

"Join us," William interrupted. He wanted to pick Ettie's brain about what Burns was doing here with Meyers… And they still needed to make plans about going to see Ieva Baltavesky's landlady. "Please, just for a few moments… Maybe a cup of coffee?" William added, standing and pulling out a chair for her.

Ettie tactfully informed them that Meyers was here in Winnipeg _**solely**_ to meet with Burns – she seemed to dig that point in, indicating that it was further evidence that William had been wrong about Meyers being in love with her. The two men had asked her to pre-arrange the meeting. She promised to get William a meeting with Burns this evening, him planning to pretend to be trying to sell his electric stun-gun as a means of more efficient slaughter. He had every hope of being invited to Burns' Winnipeg Meatpacking plant to look for witnesses that might have known Adomas Baltavesky, preferably around the time the man had been killed last August on a train full of refrigerated meat headed for Burns' Toronto facility.

George took the opportunity to ask Ettie some questions about his latest attempt at writing a book…

W _illiam ran his theories on the case through his head once again. He had believed Adomas had been killed while attempting his second act of sabotage – this one here in Canada, with Burns as the victim – having been hired by Davies through his manager Mulligan. It was while doing this that William had believed Adomas had been attacked and killed by an American spy, suspecting this because of the method of assassination – of pretending to be shaking hands and then instead stabbing the victim under the right armpit. However, now that Crabtree had discovered that it was_ _ **not**_ _Adomas who had been hired to sabotage Burns' meat, but someone else, William was unsure what Adomas was doing on that train in the first place._

 _Either way, William figured that Adomas' killer had most likely worked for Clegg and was stopping what was believed to be any further sabotage being done against America's meat magnates, like Jonathan Armour, by killing the sabotager, Adomas Baltavesky. He figured Meyers fit in because Meyers wanted to cover-up the fact that a Canadian had sabotaged the American meat, killing all those innocent people, and thus Meyers was willing to look the other way about Clegg having had a Canadian killed, being that Adomas Baltavesky was a Canadian citizen. Another possibility was that Burns had had Adomas killed when he discovered he was sabotaging_ _ **his**_ _meat. But now William suspected that that was not what Adomas was doing on the train, and how would Burns hire an assassin who had been trained to kill using an American spy method anyway!_ _ **My God, this case made his head hurt!**_

 _The one thing he knew for sure was that Davies' manager, Mulligan, had killed Adomas Baltavesky's wife Ieva, probably because she showed up at his office looking for her husband, or maybe she even attempted blackmail, and Mulligan had had the now likely dead Mr. Kempsey move Ieva's body after he had killed her. That had all led to a dead end, once George had stolen the letter-opener from Mulligan's office and their blood evidence on the green carpet had not been convincing – Mulligan coming up with an alternative explanation for the blood on the rug, claiming it belonged to a man who had sliced off his finger, and once Kempsey had been sent down the butchering line on the meat-hook, much as had almost happened to William himself, and Jackson, there would be no one to claim otherwise. It was a complicated web of intrigue indeed, and it was certainly challenging putting all of the pieces together._

 _But now William had,_ _ **in his pocket**_ _, the proof he needed, that Adomas Baltavesky had been working for Armour, as an icer, on the very train that ended up delivering the spoiled meat, the same meat that despite being warm enough to spoil had arrived at its destination chilled, the same meat that killed five people in Toronto, Buffalo, and New York City. What William needed, though, was something that linked Davies and/or Mulligan to hiring Adomas to commit the sabotage on Armour's meat. Hence, the need to get into Burns' establishment to find a witness of Adomas' next attempted sabotage, or even his murder. He also held out hope that they would find something at Ieva's old flat – there were still missing letters…_

Suddenly, Ettie rose to leave, leaning over to William's ear as she stood. "Will, be careful. Terrence was told there has been a man outside watching the coffee house all night. His informant said the man arrived right after you got here," she whispered.

William gulped down his last sip of tea, saying, "George, I think we'd best check around outside. It seems we may have been followed after all."

)) ((

Searching outside, William found a spot behind an outhouse that had multiple shoeprints in the frozen mud, likely from last night when it was still warm enough to rain. He also found a vaguely familiar candy wrapper. He knew it was significant – _"Necco Wafers…"_

George approached from across the other street. He saw the look on the detective's face, recognized it immediately, Murdoch was running something through that big brain of his. He had found a clue! George himself was excited, for he had found something as well. He had collected a cigarette butt from behind some garbage cans in an onlooking alleyway. Clearly, someone had been there for many hours, and, as it had been very windy last night, the fact that so many cigarette butts had not blown away suggests that whomever it was, they had been there as recently as this morning.

 _In his mind William saw Julia, telling him about Rebecca James' reason for stealing the strange bright pink-colored stomach contents from the well-labeled bottle in her morgue, stomach contents from the murdered Minister Fergus, on the case that involved Pendrick's rocket, when a Canadian rocket was aimed at New York City, and when William flew! Julia's voice stated it so clearly in his head…_

"They're Necco Wafers. Only sold in the Boston area," William said, staring down at the candy wrapper in his hand, extending it for George to see. "Alan Clegg," William declared.

"Oh my," George responded, both worried and impressed. "That is not good sir," he added, receiving an agreeing nod from the detective.

"It seems we have the American government on our tails, George… And we still don't know whether Jonathan Armour was found…" William needed to swallow back his fear, "dead or alive."

William glanced over at George's hand, noticing he had something in his handkerchief. "What have you George?" he asked.

George flipped his chin in the direction of the alleyway and answered, "Cigarette butts."

"Two men then," William thought aloud. "Do you think they were together?" William asked.

George thought for a moment and then said, "Sir, you said Meyers had an informant. Perhaps one of the men was…"

"No. Meyers' man was in that parked car over there all night," William said.

"My goodness, in that awful weather there were three different men out here surveilling… us!?" George marveled.

"Well, they aren't here now," William said. "We'll have to be on the lookout."

They headed back into the coffee house, planning to soon be accompanied by Ettie to Ieva Baltavesky's last known apartment. Once William got up to Ettie's room he discovered that his backsack had been stolen! Fortunately, he had thought to put the logbook page that he had ripped out of Armour's records in his pants pocket rather than leave it in the backsack. As he rushed to get George and head back outside to better search the area, he remembered that he had put Julia's photo in there! He absolutely adored that picture of her…

)) ((

In the alleyway, William and George searched through the garbage cans for the backsack or any other relevant evidence. William had moved deeper into the alleyway, and was squatted down near the ground inspecting some interesting shoeprints, trying to decide if they matched those he figured were Clegg's because they had been made in the spot with the Necco Wafer wrapper. Glancing up to check on George, William's heart leapt out of his chest and he bolted for George with all his might!

A man approached George, extending his hand for a handshake, and George was in the process of reaching out for the man's hand…

With acrobatics similar to those he had used to save the American president while on his honeymoon, William soared, horizontal to the ground, through the air, reaching for the assailant, screaming for George to STOP!

With a wild smack, William's body sailed into the killer's, seemingly before the thin knife-blade had been shoved into George's armpit. Before William could get the upper hand, the man had slithered away, quickly turning right, already out of sight.

"George!" William panicked, checking to see if he had been cut. "That was Adomas' killer!" he yelled.

George had his hand covering his side. When he pulled it away – there was blood! Both men frantically gaped at George's side. The wound did not seem to be very deep – thank God. "Not bad, sir," George said, nearly smiling with relief.

"That is the technique used to kill Adomas…" William explained, his heart pounding, rushing to take in enough air.

"Well, he failed this time, thanks to you," George said. "Go after him sir. I'll be alright," he urged.

William took up chase. Figuring the man would likely make the earliest possible turn to best escape pursuit, William charged into the next alleyway on the right… Quickly slamming on the brakes and ducking behind more garbage cans upon discovering that in that very alley, the killer was being held at gunpoint – by Clegg.

Clegg's slimy little voice smirked, "Graveson, admit it. You messed up. You always mess up. Kill too fast… Did when you worked for us… Do now working for Armour. Went and killed that icer before you found out who he was working for, you idiot – We're still paying for that mistake – Hell, it's why that blasted Murdoch is involved in the first place. And now I find you… You complete imbecile! I swear, if you kill them before I get that logbook page… I swear I'll… Jesus, Mr. Armour is still implicated in all this. Unbelievable! How could you be so stup…"

Bloody Hel… Suddenly Graveson's eyes met William's! Clegg turned to see…

Graveson charged past Clegg, barreling, knife-blade in front, dead on for Murdoch…

William turned and, he could never run fast enou…

BANG! The gunshot pierced the air!

"Freeze!" Clegg demanded, halting both William and Graveson in their tracks.

William turned back slowly, arms in the air, to see that Graveson, too, had his hands above his head.

Clegg lowered his voice, commanding but amazingly calmly he ordered, "Get the hell out of here Graveson. Let me handle this." Graveson backed away, past William, out into the street, instantly gone.

Clegg turned his gun on William.

His hands still in the air, his big, wide brown eyes on Clegg, William said, "Mr. Clegg… Thank…"

"Oh, don't thank me Murdoch," Clegg said smugly, "It's not for you, it's for my country. Now, give me the paper."

William paused, his brain going a mile a minute, _"Had to be Clegg took the backsack – that's how he knows I have it on me…"_

"I will shoot you Murdoch," Clegg warned, "Just not _kill_ you. As a matter of fact…" Clegg lowered his gun, directing his aim downward, its barrel pointing directly at William's groin. So arrogantly he went on to explain, "I have a feeling, based on where it was I found your precious hobo-invention, your waterproof… back thing, right there next to Madam Ettie Weston's bed, where I'm quite sure you, Murdoch, had just spent the night. Yes, I am quite sure that the good Dr. Ogden might thank me for my choice of the bullet's spot." My God, the creepy little man even let out a wicked chuckle, so proud of his plan. "It's your choice Murdoch. I can shoot first, then take the paper, or you can give me what I want… and then we'll see…"

Raising an eyebrow at Clegg, William said, "Not much in it for me."

Clegg took exception. "I probably won't shoot you. And if you're quick enough, I might even let you go before that…" Clegg shook his head, for he still marveled at the ruthlessness of Graveson, "before that lunatic comes back for you. And mark me, he will. A one track mind that crazy sadistic brute."

William handed over the folded up logbook page from Armour's employment records – the only solid evidence he had in the case. Clegg held the gun on William's privates, and opened the page to verify that it was the real page from Armour's record book. William asked him to return Julia's picture. He told Clegg he had the wrong idea about him and Miss Weston. They had done nothing sordid as he was suggesting… And he loved Julia profusely. And he had hoped to keep that particular photo of her forever…

It was then that they heard footsteps running their way, then George's voice, "Sir! Sir!"

Clegg took off through the back of the alleyway as William called out, "Over here George," and watched as Clegg disappeared.

"Well George," William declared, "We now know the name of Adomas' killer. It's Graveson. And… we know he didn't kill Adomas for Clegg. No, he's the hired man of my very own cousin, Jonathan Ogden Armour."

"Sir, that's astounding," George said, unsure which of those points had surprised him so. Though, it was something to think that the detective was related to the man who had hired their victim's killer – and that the detective might have killed that very man – and that in doing so he might have killed his own relative – and that Detective William Murdoch had such a rich and powerful cousin – and, of course, he must really be Dr. Ogden's cousin – " _and that that same assassin had just tried to kill_ _ **ME**_ _!"_ Oh, that was it. This was all getting to be a bit too much.

))) (((

Inside the Lithuanian landlady's parlor, William, Ettie and George sat with the older woman drinking tea. She had denied any knowledge of any letters to Ieva Baltavesky from her husband, but William suspected there was more to it, and he was stubbornly holding to asking the woman questions pertinent to the aforementioned letters.

"So, Mrs. Mamantovas, you hold that Mrs. Baltavesky moved out with her son before the end of July, but _this_ is the address where she received all of the letters we have found that she had with her in Toronto. Perhaps, a letter came _after_ she had moved out?" William asked, curling up his face in doubt.

It was the woman's body language that bothered him. She was clearly feeling guilty. Yet, she denied it again.

Ettie tried, "Mrs. Mamantovas, we are certain there were letters after that…"

William rummaged through his brain, " _Why would she feel guilty?_ " he asked himself, " _If she never saw the letters – no guilt. Perhaps she threw them away, and now doesn't want to tell us that she did so – seeing as the letters are so important… Or… Oh, that's it!"_

William leaned forward, excited but coaching himself to approach with calm. He interrupted, "It may be of interest to you, Mrs. Mamantovas, that as members of the Constabulary, we are interested in evidence involved with these crimes, but we have no interest in attempting to regain the payoff money. You see, the culprits responsible for the sabotage and the murders, well this would have been their money, not the Canadian government's money. We would not be…"

Everyone in the room saw the change in the woman's demeanor. That did it. She had the letters… And she had also taken the money out of them!

William went on, "True, it is likely that the letters of which we speak would mention that there had originally have been rather large sums of money within them, but that would in no way implicate that the person who now possesses those same letters ever received that same money, you understand." He nodded to her, encouraging her to trust him on this.

Mrs. Mamantovas took a deep breath and stood up, releasing an optimistic sigh from all. "There was only one letter," she said as she opened a desk drawer and pulled out an envelope.

William recognized it right away – it matched the others that Adomas had sent. His heart raced! Finally some good luck!

"Ieva owed back rent, you see," she said, handing it to William. She explained further, "I was going to throw it away… I didn't know where Ieva had moved. But I thought that she might come looking for it… And I would tell her I got it, but that it was unsealed and there wasn't any money in it when it got here."

William opened it, finding it was in Lithuanian, as he had expected. Mrs. Mamantovas translated. In his letter, Adomas told that Davies had provided the deal and the money for him to go to Chicago, to get a job with Armour and then to sabotage the refrigerated meat. The letter said that Mulligan was the one who had made the deal with Adomas, but that Davies was in on it because he provided the money, and he was present when Adomas collected the payoff after the deed was done. It named the dates and the trains and the method used to spoil the meat.

It also said that Mulligan had tried to hire Adomas to sabotage Burns' meat in the same way afterwards. It turns out that Adomas wanted to decline – his conscious had been tortured by the deaths of the innocent people who had eaten the meat he had sabotaged. According to his letter, Adomas was smart about this though, and he knew that if he declined Mulligan's offer to pursue more sabotage, his life would be in danger. So, Adomas agreed to commit the next round of sabotage against Burns. He wrote to his wife, however, that he had no intention of actually ever committing the act of sabotage against Burns. He went through the motions, hoping to put them at ease. He got a job at Burns' facility here in Winnipeg, but he never sabotaged anything, that seemed certain.

"Perhaps Davies and Mulligan figured out he wasn't planning to do it?" Ettie asked.

George suggested, "Or perhaps Adomas threatened to tell… To go to the press or something… Maybe he tried to blackmail them and that's why he got killed!?"

William nodded, but he reminded himself that they knew had killed Adomas - Graveson. But that didn't mean that there were not others who wanted to kill him as well. "We will need more," he said, standing, collecting the letter and thanking Mrs. Mamantovas for her help.

Once they were outside, William leaned close to George and said, "Remember, there was someone else hired to commit the sabotage against Burns. Davies and Mulligan knew, somehow, that Adomas was not going to do it – why else would they hire someone else."

"Yes, of course sir!" George exclaimed.

"And we already know Graveson killed Adomas," William added.

Instinctively, George reached over and covered his injured side. He definitely remembered – the thought sending a chill down his spine.

George spotted a wrapper in the bushes – a Necco Wafer wrapper. Clegg had been there too!

William's heart rushed. They were in danger, even more so now. "George, do you think the woman who told you about the other icer – could she help us find him?" he asked, whispering, but figuring keeping Ettie out of this now was hopeless. He had to admit, he was concerned she would tell Meyers.

William decided to ask Ettie if she had heard anything about Jonathan Armour's health. Ettie replied, "Mr. Codrum, it seems you would know better than me," she said coyly. She leaned close and whispered, "That is why all this spy intrigue, no?" she asked. "Yes. It is known by many that a Canadian, they think he's a spy, going under the name of Codrum…"

William couldn't stand it one more second, "Did they say if Armour had been killed?" he asked desperately.

Realizing how seriously William had been worrying about this, she took pity on him. "No William. Armour is fine. A few stitches – didn't even have to stay in the hospital. It's alright," she reassured him. "You didn't kill your fellow toff cousin," she said, digging a little barb in despite her compassion for him.

Arriving back at the Coffee House, George observed, "Sir, Don't you find it surprising that a spy as successful as Alan Clegg would have such a bad habit as leaving such an obvious clue behind wherever he goes? Do you think he wants us to know he's watching us?"

"No George, I think it's like a good gambler who doesn't know he has a "tell," and I think it's to our advantage to keep it that way, hmm?" William said, his eyes insisting George keep it to himself.

George and William sat on a step in a stairwell to the roof, hoping to be outside of anyone's range of listening in on them. They whispered back and forth, working on how to proceed. William figured they now had enough proof to convict Davies for sponsoring the sabotage of Armour's meat industry, and Mulligan for planning it, and as a result of their doing so, these two men would likely be held responsible for the deaths of those five innocent people who had eaten the bad meat. George was arguing for racing back to Toronto as quickly as possible with that proof, claiming that many of the loose ends on the case were now neatly tied up – they had Davies, and Mulligan too, for planning the sabotage, they knew who had killed Adomas Baltavesky – Graveson, a former American spy who now was Jonathan Armour's hired killer, and they knew who had killed Ieva Baltavesky – Mulligan, and they knew, unfortunately, that they couldn't prove it.

"But we don't know why Adomas was on that train," William urged. And… this next argument for staying longer was personal, leading William to feel reluctant about bringing it up. "George, I don't expect you to understand this, but… I feel strongly about at least trying to get Burns to consider using my electric capacitor…" William looked at George, unsure he would know where he was going, "I want to try to stop the inhumane killing of the pigs and the cattle, George. I know it's not… police business…" William swallowed and held tightly to George's eyes.

"I understand sir. It is a good invention, and it would make a difference," George agreed. "But they'll be expecting us to stay, Graveson and Clegg, and now even Meyers too. We're like sitting ducks here, sir," George argued, feeling he owed it to the good doctor to be the voice of reason.

"So, we'll leave sooner than planned – after I meet with Burns, but we won't wait for my meeting with him at his establishment tomorrow morning. I'll give him the design for the electric stun-gun at this meeting tonight. There is a train of refrigerated meat that heads out of Burns' facility in the middle of the night – two AM. It's the one Adomas took, the night he got killed…" William wrinkled his face and said, "Two birds with one stone?"

And so it was agreed. William and George would sneak out of Ettie's Coffee House in the dark of night, headed for Burns' meatpacking facility here in Winnipeg. They would steal away on the train, on their way home to Toronto, the evidence they needed to convict Davies and Mulligan of sponsoring and planning the sabotage of Armour's meatpacking industry, and subsequently killing five innocent people, in their possession. If all went as planned, they would be home by sunrise on Monday morning. Soon, they would be out of Winnipeg.


	14. Chapter 14: Star Guiding Me Home

Chapter_13_The Star Guiding Me Home

The more time passed the less and less powerful Julia's wrath became, for with each and every round, the rageful flare would burn lower. Her anger, however, seemed to maintain homeostatic balance with her worry, which replaced the anger, growing exponentially as the hotter emotion calmed. William was alive when he had called, when she had heard his voice in the phone, his breathing. There was no doubt then. Now, however, there was doubt. He could have been killed… or not. If not, he still could be… before he had a chance to make it home to her… before he had a chance… to explain. Although Julia now understood in a deep and profound way that not knowing when you are _supposed_ to know is so much worse than not knowing when you are _**not**_ _supposed_ to know, she unintentionally sent herself back down the tunnel of despair each time she told herself, "He should be home by now." And, as for her anger, it had settled down into a slow and steady simmer, fueled by the burning flame of her hurt underneath it, and it had begun to feel to her as if that hurt would always be there – always.

))) (((

William roused George. It was barely past midnight, and they were still at Ettie's Coffee House. Benefitting their plan to sneak out in the middle of the night, they had been able to arrange to stay in the same room, taking advantage of the fact that on this particular night, there was a customer who had requested the company of _two_ ladies, something of which George himself was familiar with of late.

The noises William had noticed George had been making for the past few hours suggested that the man had enjoyed a deep, high-quality sleep, seemingly enhanced by a few moments of dreaming that he thought rivaled some of Julia's more… spicy dreams. William, on the other hand, had not slept a wink. He wondered if having Julia's picture would have helped, for anxiety plagued him, and he had failed to find any means of self-soothing. Perhaps more troubling than the intense anxiety was the feeling that underneath that anxiety there was a deep gloominess. Over and over again, he replayed their short phone conversation, each time working to have a better result, a result in which he had been able to convince her that he loved her more than life itself, that, for him, she wholly _was_ his world.

Intermittently, he would coach himself to think about something else, often turning to the case at hand. That's when the intrusive flashes, so visceral, disturbing and unsettling, would come, most often of him chaining up another pig's hindfoot and cringing as he tried to hide from the suffering his doing so had caused.

In response to the flash, he would tell himself, " _Burns liked the electric stun-gun. So many pigs will be freed of the torture because of your invention_ ," trying to turn that page… Only to have another abhorrent apparition appear, perhaps a memory of Flannel Bull telling him to take off his shirt, or the sight of the teenage-boy standing before him as his captors opened the barn door, the boy who would be taken in William's place, any matter of the boy's turning and running or William's attempts to fight the demons off while handcuffed, destined to fail, leaving him bearing the guilt of _not_ being chosen.

Even imaginary horrors popped up to torment him, like when he pictured what would have happened if Clegg had not chased the knife-wielding, crazed Graveson off, or if Clegg had decided to actually shoot him in the tender spot in which he had aimed his gun. Soon after that one, memories of the sound of the giant rotary saw at Davies slaughterhouse slicing through a pig carcass would blare in his ears, and he would panic, imagining that he was next, hanging in the cold darkness, bound and dangling from a meat-hook. He even saw in his mind's eye, chilling things, things that he had _only been told about_ , by Sin, who had spoken of one man's toddler son who had drowned in the street, and that then, that same man had come home to find his wife dead, with their dead little baby still stuck inside of her, the child having killed her with its tiny hope of life. And of course, then William would be back to thinking about Julia. It had been a night of nightmares, without ever falling asleep.

Both dressed once again in their hobo clothes, William considered where to best carry the precious letter written by Adomas that would provide the evidence needed to convict Davies and Mulligan. George threw his hands up in the air declaring, "Oh, it's best not me, sir. I never told you this before, but I lost your wedding ring…"

William's eyebrow jutted up. _He was certain the ring on Julia's finger was the same one he had bought for her?_!

"Oh, Higgins found it. It had fallen through a hole in my pocket and he found it on my typewriter – got it to me just in time," the lucky best man explained.

"I see," William replied, folding the letter again and then putting it in an inside pocket, a somewhat _secret pocket_ that he had sewn into his hobo pants before they had left Toronto. He blew out a puff of air, trying to calm his nerves. It was time to go. George picked up his bundle, William regretting that his own backsack had been stolen, and with it most of the money he had left – and Julia's photo. He needed to exhale again, the tension rising with his thoughts, and the memory they triggered, of the backsack's thief, Clegg, threatening to shoot him in his groin.

The two men tiptoed down the upstairs hallway headed for the stairs. The Coffee House was almost quiet, only an occasional lustful moan or the squeaking of mattress springs as they passed by one room or another. Turning to go down the stairs before they would pass Ettie's room, William smiled to himself knowing that behind that door Ettie was with Meyers. He hoped for her sake that Meyers would come clean with her about being in love with her. William had become only more certain that what he saw in Meyers last night had been true love.

On the large and winding first floor in the dark, they made their way to the kitchen where their coats still hung, filthy but warm, dry, snug, waiting for them in the back of the pantry. Once their coats were on, William stepped out of the pantry only to encounter Ettie in the moonlit blackness. Panic bolted to his heart, through his veins, sending every muscle to alert. "Thank God it's you," he whispered, his hand over his racing heart, once his brain registered her identity.

She stepped very close to him, his heart still beating rapidly from the fright, and stood on her toes to bring her lips close to his ear. "I think you might have been right about Terrence," she whispered, "Though the stubborn spy won't admit it… at least not out loud."

"Good," William replied simply.

Then she kissed his cheek. "Good-bye Will," she said, her message resonating with multiple levels of their parting.

"Good-bye Ettie," he whispered back.

William and George crawled out of a window to best avoid detection, a window that was cloaked by snow-covered bushes and trees, and the two men disappeared into the moonlit night.

))) (((

Having very little money left, anticipating difficulty finding a cab at this time of night, at least in Winnipeg, and figuring it would have been easier for someone to follow them if they had tried to hail one anyway, William and George decided to walk to the train tracks where they intended to catch a train to Burns' meatpacking plant. Their pace was brisk, but George still wanted to talk.

"You called it a ménage a trois, sir… my encounter with the… ladies, that first night…" the younger man huffed, his voice catching up to William, as George hurried to keep up, from a few steps behind him.

"Mm," William replied, already feeling his temperature rise and his armpits start to sweat with George's chosen topic.

"Well, I think it would really have to be called a ménage a quatre, I think sir," George said, waiting for what he figured was his bomb to hit.

Julia would have died laughing if she could have seen William's face. "Oh?" was all William could muster, his eyebrow highly elevated, trying not to sound shocked.

"Yes sir… You see there were really three…"

 **All of a sudden** , their legs tearing them across the backyard as fast as they could, William and George figured out that they were being chased by a huge dog, their instincts putting them at top speed before their minds had had time to actually figure out what the noise was coming up from behind them! Within seconds, William was up a tree – George dove over a fence a second later! The dog had stuck with William and now barked wildly, rearing up to place his front legs up the trunk, even jumping over and over in an effort to try to reach the man. This dog was fierce, and this dog was noisy – the lights went on in the house!

From half-way up the tree, William's voice whispered with a yell, "George, throw the roast beef!" George looked up, searching for the detective in the tree. "The roast beef Miss Shari gave you!" William insisted.

"Brilliant sir," George declared – having forgotten he had the delicacy. George whistled softly, "Hey fella, over here," as he waved the roast beef wrapped up in a paper bag through the air.

" _Thank God,_ " William thought the moment the dog caught a whiff of it, turned away from the tree trunk, and stopped his loud barking.

George hurled the roast beef far from the tree harboring the detective and the dog took flight, as did William. _The man sure could move fast, probably all the cycling._ William flung himself over the fence exclaiming in a whisper, "That was close."

"I just about laid an egg, sir!" George whispered his shout. "Do you remember, sir, when you saved me from that wild…"

William knew exactly where the constable was headed, instantly feeling the intense surge of pain in his buttocks cheek where the vicious dog had bitten him. _My God_ , Julia had been so mad at him for taking such a risk, taking on a guard-dog that had pinned George to the ground, and was surely about to kill him. "All too well, George," William responded, fighting the urge to rub the old wound.

"That's when the whole stationhouse found out Dr. Ogden was pregnant!" George remembered excitedly.

"Yes, George," William said, remembering Julia's fiery admonishment, a rather public one at that.

"Sir…" George started to ask him something, then thinking better of it. They were on the move again and it seemed William was not all that interested in talking, "Never mind," he said.

Knowing George couldn't see, for the man was trailing a bit behind, William rolled his eyes, immediately having an image of Julia ducking her chin and reprimanding him with her gorgeous blue eyes about his lack of patience. William took a deep breath, calling on his forbearance and asked, "What's on your mind George?"

Happily, George replied, "Well, sir, how did you know… I mean you told me, when we were in the bar after forfeiting the curling match to that snob Wesley Garland, you told me that since the first time you had met Dr. Ogden you thought she was the one for you, and… I just wondered, how did you know? I, uh, I've thought, well that I too had found the one for me every time I, um… Just, how did you know?"

He would not be able to answer that, William knew this, for there were not words to describe it. He pictured seeing her step out of the morgue's carriage at Clayton Bowles' home – his first moment meeting the new lady pathologist. He had already been impressed with her, for her having accomplished becoming a doctor, he knew she would have amazing determination and grit, and be bright and far more capable than just about any man around, for her to have made it so far, as a woman, in this man's world. The experience had been physical though, instantly catapulting his head into spinning, his heart into a wild, thunderous pounding, and skipping and soaring in his chest with just the sight of her. _My God, she was beautiful_. And he just knew it. He had been looking for her all his life, and he just knew it, he had finally found her.

"I can't really say George. It was like nothing I had ever felt before. I had loved Liza, but that love had grown over time. It didn't start out at all… like that. I had felt attracted to her, but… It just wasn't anything like what I felt when I met Julia. The earth moved, and I just knew I'd found her, that she was the one for me," he said, suddenly feeling he had said too much, too gushy…

"Well you sure took a long time to start courting her," George stated, receiving a frown he could not see.

"Yes," William said, "Too long indeed.

Finally, silent for a while, George broke the quiet hike, telling William, "You know sir, I forgot to tell you, um… the young lady, the one who told me she had met a man who bragged that he was going to be making a lot of money by destroying Burns for Davies, back last summer…"

"Mm," William said, saving his breath, grateful to see the train tracks ahead. They would catch a train here to take them to Burns' place. There, they would stow away on a train full of refrigerated meat headed back to Toronto. "Was there something more George?" William asked.

George had decided to keep the part about this woman actually being the _third_ woman to join them that night to himself, but she did share some important information that he had remembered, and George felt the detective needed to be informed about it so, he said, "She said that she never saw the man again after that."

"Perhaps Graveson killed him too… Maybe he figured, or maybe he even found out, that this second man was going to commit sabotage against his employer, Mr. Armour. Graveson could have killed him too, to protect Armour's financial interests," William thought out loud, his face giving his customary wrinkle indicating he still had some doubts.

Suddenly George felt a chill up his spine. William did too. Graveson was creepy, and he was after them. Clegg had said the man had a one track mind, had warned William that the crazed man would be back to kill him. Fear threatened. There was a train whistle in the distance. William and George dashed for the tracks. The train was going their way, they'd best hurry… needing to beat their own record to catch it, there was only this train for hours and they couldn't miss the train leaving Burns' meatpacking plant at two AM. Now or never, they each gave it their all.

))) (((

The train car was empty, and thus it was cold. The door wouldn't close all the way and the wind howled through them. They sat in a corner, somewhat huddled together at a manly distance of a few inches apart, shivering. William put his hands in his pockets, and that's when he found it! Julia's photograph!

 _He was certain he hadn't left it there. He had kept it with him, had used to help settle down and be able to sleep that first night there._ He pulled it out, looking down at it with puzzlement.

"The straw-bale I see," George commented on Julia's being a blond beauty in hobo terms, looking down at the picture as well. His comment reminded him of Sin. He had been inspired by the man, and he thought of him now. Sin had told them he would be heading home and starting his novel. He had said he even knew the title, "The Jungle." George thought that was quite apropos, as it was hobo lingo for a hobo meeting place, and it also made a strong statement about the reality of the harsh, cruel world – a world he'd come to know all too well over the course of this trip, it seemed even more so for the detective.

"George, this was in my backsack," William said, a spooky slowness to his words as he worked to fathom it.

"But didn't Clegg…"

"Yes, George. Clegg must have put it in my pocket. He was in the Coffee House – sometime after he… almost shot me," William answered, his pace quickening with the realization of the threat.

"Sir! Do you think he knows we left? Do you think…"

William took a deep breath, letting the exhale calm him, "We'd best be on the lookout," he said.

The stench in the air announced that they were getting close to Burns' Meatpacking Plant. The train they were on would be loaded up with meat and then head for Toronto. They jumped off a few hundred feet before it stopped, not wanting to be spotted by the workers. William had every intention of questioning these men, but he wanted to get a lay of the land first, to be on the lookout for Graveson and Clegg, and even Burns, though he was pretty sure that Canada's "Cattle King" was still at Ettie's – Burns was the one who paid for the company of two women last night.

Hiding in the dark behind what seemed to be a humungous vat of cow or pig blood, William and George studied the men moving about in the light only about twenty feet away. Each of them was large, hulking, each heaving a side of beef up onto their backs and then hurling it up into the train car.

"We're in luck George, I think I know one of them," William said. " _The odds of it are so low, but the man did say he was going to try Winnipeg_ ," William reasoned to himself. "That fellow right there!" William whispered excitedly, "That's John Dempsey, I'm sure of it… from the House of Industry – the man who saved my life, in the sawmill!"

"Psst! Psst!" William whispered when it looked like Dempsey was most alone, getting the man's attention.

Approaching, Dempsey's eyes focused suspiciously before a smile of recognition took his face. "Detective Murdoch!" he declared, being hushed quickly by the hiding pair.

William and Dempsey quickly caught up, and then Dempsey introduced them to another man who had known Adomas Baltavesky. This man said that Adomas had shown up one morning last August, that he was tailing a man who Adomas had said was going to kill lots of innocent people by messing up the meat, and Adomas intended to stop him. Dempsey's friend had helped Adomas get aboard the same train as the suspected man. He hadn't seen Adomas or the other man since. He had always figured Adomas had killed the man and then gone into hiding. Upon finding out that Adomas had been killed, the man seemed truly saddened. "He was the most noble man I'd ever met, trying to save people even when he was having so much trouble and turmoil trying to find his own wife and kid. Such a shame, dang shame," he had said.

"Sir," George asked, "Do you think Adomas did it? I mean there were never any reports of spoiled meat after that first one in July. Maybe Adomas did kill him, and save the day… I guess before Graveson then killed Adomas?"

"Possibly," William figured, adding, "Or Graveson killed both of them."

"Yes, of course, very possibly, especially knowing Graveson," George agreed.

Figuring that the word of a prostitute claiming that there was a man who told her was being paid a large sum of money by Davies to sabotage Burns' meat would not go very far towards convincing a judge, William decided not to pursue this clue any farther. Reminding himself not to subconsciously touch Adomas' hidden letter in his secret pocket, trusting that his evidence was safe and secure and not wanting to offer a 'tell' about it, William asked the two men to help them stow away on this train. George asked specifically if it could not be in one of the cars with the freezing cold meat. Thus, William and George ended up in a nice warm car full of hay-bales headed for Toronto. Finally, they were on their way home!

))) (((

It had been quiet for a while, the various cracks inside the train car letting in the pinkish-orange hues of dawn along with the chill of the wind from the train as it hurled through space. Crabtree re-discovered the two small bottles of lice shampoo that Lalka had given him, suggesting he share one with _Mr. Codrum._ "Detective," George said, breaking the peaceful clackety-clack chugging along of the train, "One of the ladies gave me an extra…for you." George extended the gift to William.

"Ah yes, Miss Weston, too, offered me some. I had it in my backsack. Thank you, George," William replied, taking the bottle and thinking to himself with a hop of jubilation that George's calling him "detective" signified that they were almost home. He found he was desperate with the need to see Julia, having trouble waiting for the moment he could hold her in his arms, and smell her delicious scent, feel her warm, soft body next to him. _My God, he missed her_ – missed her so much the hurt of her absence seemed to sear a hole in him, his very life essence leaking out, dispersing in the world, leaving him empty. It was as if his very soul headed out to find her, leaving him bare, as if he couldn't be _him_ without _her_.

Then, it flashed, the dread, the astounding fear that she would be upset with him, about staying with Ettie. Unwilling to tolerate the discomfort of it, he pushed the troubling thought away. But, much like a game of whack-a-mole, unbearable thoughts being pushed down in one spot only invited them to pop up again in another, and so it happened for William.

He wouldn't call it sleeping, but he had drifted off to somewhere, and in that place all myriad of taunts haunted him, from screeching pigs, to itching rashes on his skin, to dog bites, and bullets to his groin, images of the teenage boy being… William bolted upright, solidly, heart-pounding awake. Next to him, George had nodded off. He looked around. It seemed safe, only then, he heard himself finally breathe.

He was tattered and torn, a complete mess. He needed to sleep and he dreaded sleep, and with the possibility that Graveson was around, or even Clegg for that matter – if the spy had garnered some reason or another to think they were still a threat to American interests – and either of these men showed up threatening their lives, there was a realistic danger indeed. Maybe it was best if he didn't try to sleep.

William pulled Julia's picture out of his pocket. His fingers itched with the desire to take a hold of one of her curls, to feel it slide through his fingers, to almost hear the crinkly sound of the hairs rubbing across one another with his fingertips. He imagined moving in even closer, not quite kissing her neck… Just smelling her, breathing her in, letting her scent fill him, titillate him, light the spark.

He shifted, and then imagined walking through their front door, so filled with anticipation, just to see her, to have their eyes meet across the room…

Taking an ugly sudden turn, his imagination served up instead, the Inspector, sitting in his foyer, waiting there for him, with Eloise and Dr. Tash!

" _Murdoch," the Inspector said…_

 _And William knew… Started shaking his head, for it couldn't be true… He couldn't bear it to be true…_

" _Murdoch," the Inspector said again, stepping closer, his eyes so forlorn, his heart surely breaking with the news. "She's gone Murdoch."_

 _The words stung so deeply he lost his ability to breathe, knew he would never ever breathe again, not without her…_

" _The baby?" he heard himself ask… into the tunnel…_

A tear fell on Julia's photo with a plop, pulling him back. And he thanked God it wasn't true. Dizzy with fear, his body heavy with the release of the immense stress, _**he prayed to God**_ that it wasn't true.

))) (((

Eloise took comfort in the fact that the doctor seemed happy in the baby's room, rocking in the rocking chair, surrounded by the beautiful new baby furniture. Last she had checked on her, Dr. Ogden had drifted off to sleep in the rocking chair, softly maintaining her deeper breathing while Eloise covered her with a blanket. Finally, her mistress would sleep.

She opened their bedroom closet to gather up any clothes to take out to be dry-cleaned, releasing a happy gasp with the sight of the detective's homburg on the top of the bundled up dirty dresses. " _She's going to give him a chance,_ " Eloise thought enjoying the feeling of the warmth fill her chest. " _Thank God, she's going to give him a chance._ " Unfortunately, the man's cherished hat absolutely reeked with the smell of garbage. Eloise stuffed it into the center of her bundle of Dr. Ogden's dresses and hoped that the hat millinery would be able to remove the disgusting odor. At first thinking she hoped they would be able to do so _**before**_ the detective got home, she quickly switched her wish, asking instead that he get home as soon as possible, hat or no hat.

Hesitating to glance in the foyer as she put on her coat, Eloise checked to see if the pile of bedding the doctor had put out by the couch for him was still there. Such a tumultuous, turbulent upheaval, much like those newfangled roller-coaster monstrosities at the amusement parks, her heart sunk again so soon after its earlier flight, upon finding that the detective's pajamas, and a pillow and a blanket waited there for him. _The man would have a hard time with this…_ " _As certainly was the doctor,_ " she thought. _Whatever it was he had done, she so hoped he could…_ Eloise shook her head, afraid her own doubt would dishearten her, thus ceasing the thought midstream. Things were truly a mess. She so wished he would get HOME.

))) (((

Hungry and cold and needing to find an outhouse, and coping with the discomfort of making due with whatever else they could find, all this and so much more weighed down on them. The life of a hobo, even a fake and temporary one, was hard indeed. It seemed, William reflected, that even just in the physical sense, Sinclair had been right, it is a jungle out here, and if you don't suffer and die at the hands of one predator or another, you will likely die of exposure, or starvation, or bad luck. Only one place was on his mind. William wanted to be – HOME.

It was only upon awakening that he realized he had fallen asleep. Instantly his every cell jumped into alert with the realization. " _ **It's not safe to sleep! Check your surroundings!"**_ his inner-adviser yelled to him. That's when he noticed it. There was a much stronger breeze than before. Turning his head very, very slowly towards the back door of the train car, he caught sight of the bright sunlight. _**The door was open!**_ Terror pumped through him.

"George," he whispered, reaching over to rouse the sleeping man, "George."

The constable's eyes shot opened. Somehow, he awoke aware of the danger, stealthy and ready. Facing towards the opened door, George was the first to be certain of his presence. Something about the shadow on the bales of hay. William watched as George's eyes grew wide…

Suddenly, George dove onto William, his inertia hurling both them into a crack between two hay-bales and a shot pierced the air. The distinct, burning smell seemed to register along with the painful bang, the scent of singed-wood from where the bullet had slammed into the hay lingering in their nostrils with the ringing, as the two men once again ran for their lives. This time up and over the top of the stacked-up hay-bales, bolting for the other door.

"Darn it Graveson!" Clegg's yell rang out through the wind and the panic, "I said _**not**_ to kill him!"

William and George slowed their retreat, ducking once again into a tight nook between hay-bales. It seemed that the two Americans were having a physical altercation…

Still holding their breath, William and George shared a look. _Too quiet…_

Then, the slightest creak on the floor. Then a man's figure in front of them. William's instincts took over. He would never be certain what about this situation triggered this response. _Perhaps the level of fear he felt in reaction to Graveson subconsciously reminded him of the dangerous assassin he and his brother Jasper had encountered, a man called "Accidental Al" because he had made his murders appear to be accidents._ Whatever the reason, his mind offered up the technique of ear boxing as self-defense, and although William had never actually done such a thing, he cupped his hands, smacked both of Clegg's ears simultaneously, and then watched as the man's eyes seemed to bug out of his head and he fell to the ground.

"I thought it was Graveson!" William declared, falling to his knees to try to revive Clegg. He was completely out.

"Sir!" George screamed alerting William to the once again rushing Graveson.

They dashed for the car door, instantly halting after opening it. There was no platform, or step, or anything to stand on, except for the link to the next train car, bouncing about, thin and precarious, a good two feet below them. To make matters even worse, it appeared that that train car ahead did not have a door anyway.

Remembering that he had observed outrageously high snowbanks along the tracks when he had "used the outhouse" earlier, William hollered out, "Jump George!"

Just as quickly, the detective was just gone – last seen crouching and throwing himself out the side of the train. George knew he did not have time to look back, but still, it took the sound of Graveson's gun firing again to startle him into taking the leap.

))) (((

"Too bad we had to throw away our only real food," George said, feeling so overwhelmed by hunger he thought he might feint. They had survived the jump, thanks to the fluffy, mountainous heaps of snow that had been shoveled to the sides of the tracks.

"That or be dog food," William replied, also so hungry that he wasn't sure if it was a joke, or just a profound and astute observation, one he would be more inclined to make now that he had, himself, almost become somebody's _dinner_ , more than once. It had been hours since they had jumped off the train headed to Burns' Toronto meat distribution center. The good news was that they were relatively sure that Graveson had not also jumped off to pursue them, the bad news was that they were not certain another train would be coming by any time soon, and it was freezing, and they had another, more strategic, problem. Because of the very piles of snow that had just saved their lives for their sudden evacuation, they would now not be able to get the running start needed to get on a train should one come along.

William and George sat on George's blanket, part of it wrapped over them from the sides, in a little cubby hole they had dug in the snow to avoid the wind, and they racked their brains for a solution. William decided to think about all the times he had been on a train. Such a pleasant memory drifted up, warming him through and through.

He had taken a train to Rogue Valley because they had a case way out there, years ago, long before he and Julia had even courted. When he had gotten off the train and started to walk down the platform, he saw her from behind – and he couldn't help but notice what a lovely, lovely _**behind**_ it was. Julia was wearing an orange and brown dress, and it swished and swayed side-to-side hypnotically as her hips wiggled and pranced as she walked, taking her business-like strides. _Mm, she looked gorgeous_. He had called out to her, she had turned recognizing his voice, and her eyes had lit up so when she saw him, and he knew, he hoped, that she quite liked him as well. He was so, so, in love with her – still was.

Coming back to the present, William remembered where he was, and how much he wanted to get home to her. He took a deep breath. "You know George," he said, "I want to thank you for coming with me."

"I was glad to, sir… But I must say, it had been quite hard," George replied. They shared a look, " _hard_ was definitely an understatement, but there was a shared appreciation of each other too. William had come to love George he realized, sitting there with him in the freezing cold, desolate, miserable snow bank. His mind flashed to the time, probably because of the memory he had just been having about meeting up with Julia on the case in Rogue Valley, when George had thought that the whole town was being overrun by aliens from Mars.

He chuckled and then said, "Do you remember George, when you called Dr. Ogden out to Rogue Valley to examine a murdered cow?"

"It had had its guts sucked out through a tiny hole in its side sir!" George replied, feeling an eerie chill.

"And you thought it was aliens, George," William laughed a little harder.

"Well, sir, it was a reasonable conclusion, with the three-toed giant footprints and the lights in the sky and what not," George suggested.

"Well, I don't know about 'reasonable' George," William replied. Then William enjoyed another quick memory flash, this one of sitting in a pagoda with Julia, and being so very close to kissing her for the first time. He had been feeling absolutely overwhelmed and breathless with how beautiful he thought she was and how much he wanted to love her with every inch of his body, only to be stopped by the huge airship in the sky. Back to George's Martians, William conceded, "I suppose it occurred to me too as a possibility, for the briefest of moments, myself, particularly when the big ship with its bright lights flew, floating so silently, overhead. Ironic, don't you think, that that was the first time we met Mr. Meyers."

"Yeah, and he has managed to show up on every crazy case we've had since then too… even this one it seems," George added, then suddenly asked remembering, "Wasn't he dead?"

"Mm," William replied, explaining that Meyers had told him he had ejected from Pendrick's rocket and used the flying suit to land in Borneo.

The pair grew quiet, turning back to solving their problem of getting on a train should one ever come. William focused his thoughts back to times he had been on a train. That's when it hit him, like a lightning bolt! The memory held such immense fear and dread with it, and it might work now too! Thus, William's heart was thumping wildly in his chest when he turned to suggest it to, to remind, George about it.

"George!" he alerted his friend, "Remember when we were taking Gillies to Kingston, and the bandits stopped the train…"

"Oh that was awful sir. We heard all these running footsteps up above us on the roof, running back towards where Dr. Ogden was. I was petrified that somehow Gillies was going to try to kill her again!" George explained.

"As was I," William rushed to say. He took a quick breath, excited about his idea. "Do you remember how they stopped the train, George?" he asked.

George ran the memory through his mind, suddenly seeing the large tree trunk draped across the train tracks blocking the train. "I do sir," he said, nodding his head, a smile growing, catching the excitement. "But…" George turned his head looking every which way, searching the horizon, at least as much as he could see from where they were in their tiny snow cubby hole. "Sir, I don't see one tree – not to mention one that has already fallen and we could drag over here to put across the tracks," he said.

That was true… and that was a problem. "Well, George," William said, sounding hopeful, "We'll have to think of something else that would make the train stop." The pair went back to thinking.

"I've got it, sir!" George nearly screamed, "A cow!"

Oh, how William felt such a strain on his patience. He exhaled an exasperated breath of air, the smoke dangling in the air between them, and raised his eyebrow at George. "A _cow_ , George?" he asked sarcastically, "A _**cow**_? You don't see a tree trunk around… Do you see any _**cows**_ , George?!"

"Well no sir. But twice on this very trip we have been on a train when it had to stop for a cow," George defended his idea.

"Well that's all very well and good George… BUT, WE DON'T HAVE A _**COW**_!" William felt his temper threatening – one of the unfortunate effects of hunger.

"Sorry sir," George replied somewhat sheepishly, making William regret his outburst.

"It's alright George, my tree idea didn't work either," William said apologizing with a wrinkle in the corner of his mouth, grateful that George seemed not to take offense.

Back to stewing, they remained quiet. A few moments later, William noticed George sit up taller, preparing to say something…

George started slowly, "I should probably think this out before I say it, but… Well, I think we could… _**make**_ a cow, sir…"

" _ **Make**_ a cow?" William's eyebrow was up again…

"Out of snow, sir!" George replied.

"Oh, now that might work!" William declared, picking up a glow with the blooming thoughts.

Nearly an hour later, ducked behind a snow bank along the train tracks, back a good forty feet from their "cow," William and George waited for a train, hearts pounding, for they heard one coming, and it was getting mighty close now. Up ahead, their snow-cow looked marvelous, at least in their opinions. They had used the white snow to make a cow-sized statue across the tracks, legs, head, tail… even big dark patches and eyes – which they had made by cutting pieces out of George's blanket with a their knife-blades.

Just as they had planned, they heard the conductor hit the brakes on the steaming train. Then… it stopped! William and George grabbed the opportunity to hop on the train, finding themselves near the back of the train, in a reefer – a refrigerated car – full of freezing cold meat. The car was over-packed so tightly with sides of beef for Christmas that there was barely any room for the two of them to squeeze in, but fit in they did, grateful for the ride.

Up in the front of the train, a few men had gotten out of the train and were examining the cause of the delay. The conductor seemed most annoyed, "What the heck?" he questioned, "Oh, bloody hell!"

"It's snow sir," came an obvious, and therefore infuriating, reply from one of the men.

"Jesus Christ Tom, I can see that!" the conductor screamed at him.

Another man noticed there was a note wedged in the "cow's" neck and pulled it out of the damp snow. He read it and started to laugh, handing it to the conductor. He elbowed Tom, anticipating the fury from the conductor once he read the note.

Writing it had been irresistible to George. It said, "So… you want me to " _ **MOo**_ _oo-ve_?"

"Damn kids!" the conductor exclaimed, crumpling up the note and flinging it away. "We're bloody goin' through it," he declared, turning back to re-board the train.

As soon as the train was in motion, William felt a surge of excitement mixing with his relief. His urge, his urgent need, throbbing him with pain and drive told him he _had_ to get home. And it seemed with each inch closer he got he was being guided, pulled, drawn in by Julia – by the one light in the universe around which everything else seemed to turn. She was his guiding star, and the way gravity worked between them, the closer he got to her the harder the force pulled. William tried to think of something else, besides having her in his arms, reminding himself of the perils they still faced, and that if he did not remain alert, keep watchful, and be ready to fight, or flee, at any moment, he may never make it home to her at all. He touched her photo in his coat pocket, reassuring himself… Then he touched Adomas' letter in his hidden pants pocket. Home, he wanted to be home.

))) (((

Hours ahead of William and George's second train, Clegg suddenly realized he was awake, and was lying on the floor. There was an intense and painful buzzing in his ears. They felt swollen and murky, and he realized with terror, that he could not hear a thing. He looked about the train car full of hay-bales, blurred by his new deafness, his memory dangling just out of reach. " _Murdoch_ ," he thought. Then he remembered it clear as day, Murdoch banging his ears. But he was unsure of why, or even where he was. " _A moving train…_ " Clegg thought. " _Oh yes! Graveson. Graveson was still trying to kill Murdoch. Damn crazy bastard,_ " Clegg remembered.

It all came back to him then. He had been following Murdoch and the quirky, little constable because he figured Graveson would show up and try to kill Murdoch again, and he knew that if someone as prominent as Murdoch was murdered, then it would be too difficult for even Meyers to block the investigation. Importantly, such an investigation would lead back to Armour, and he could not have that. Unfortunately, after a thorough search, Clegg determined that Murdoch and the constable and Graveson were nowhere on the train. For all he knew, Murdoch could already be dead. Deciding he had no control over what happened now, for he would never be able to find them from here, Clegg figured his best plan of action would be to stay on this train and make some calls when he got to Toronto. There were signs his hearing was coming back. Hopefully, he would be able to hear the people he needed to call by the time he got there.

))) (((

Fortunately, William and George had been able to climb up on the roof of the train car and move forward through the blustery wind created by the moving train, finding that most of the cars in the front of the train were full of live pigs. After settling into a warmer train car, albeit a stinkier one for it held hoards of pigs, they discussed their plight. The detective had deduced that they were actually on a train headed for Hogtown now – directly to Davies Slaughterhouse. This was nearly perfect, he figured. The train would be pulling into Davies Slaughterhouse in the morning hours, exactly where they wanted to be to make their arrests, the train delivering the pigs intended for slaughter on Monday morning.

George had studied the train routes extensively when they had first started investigating Adomas Baltavesky's death, after Higgins had become so befuddled by the contradictions in the, then unidentified, man's death report. There were a few stops between Winnipeg and Toronto to reload the train with coal needed to fuel the engine. One stop was relatively close to Toronto. They would get off the train there, then call the Inspector and have the constabulary break out the armory and meet them at Davies Slaughterhouse to arrest Mulligan and Davies. The charge would be for manslaughter, resulting from the intentional spoiling of refrigerated, packed-meat shipping from the USA, specifically from Armour & Company in Chicago.

The sun was getting low in the west and they still had a long night ahead of them. They worried that Graveson may have gotten off the train ahead of them once he had realized that they had jumped off. He would have been able to board this train at one of the stops used to re-fuel the train with coal. He might show up again. Further, the conditions on the train were far from pleasant. They had carved out a corner of the pig-stuffed train car for themselves, but because the floor was drenched in pig feces and urine, the stench nauseating, and it was not safe to sit down, even if they were willing to sit on the disgusting brownish, liquid-soaked, floor. If a pig fight broke out, or the pigs spooked for any reason, or even if the train hit its brakes and the pigs readjusted their balance, they could end up trampled. Thus, William and George stood in the relatively warm, humid, reeking train car, surrounded by swine, staying watchful for any sign of Graveson. They were already exhausted, even from the start… but at least they were going home.

William noticed George delicately touch his side. His mind flashed the memory of seeing George about to be knifed by Graveson. "Is it hurting, George?" he asked, concerned that Ettie's cook may not have done the best job stitching George up.

"A bit, sir," George replied, "I'm sure it'll be alright though."

"We'll have Julia look at it when we get home," William offered.

The pair grew quiet again, William pondering the strength of his need to get home, noticing he felt it physically. It seemed as if every cell in his body, every atom, had shirted its orientation, was aiming east, reaching out for, stretching to get closer to, Julia. In a way he was grateful for the overwhelming need, for it pulled his attention away from his awful, agonous memories of all of the terrible, horrendous things he had seen, he had learned, even that he himself had done, out here in this cold, cruel jungle. It felt as if the only place that was safe and warm, the only place offering hope and the lure of joy, was home, was being back with her, the love of his life, his wife, his Julia.

After a few hours, their legs could take the standing no more. Deciding that it would be worth enduring the freezing cold for a while, they ventured up onto the roof of the train car. Up there, they sat, only their coats to warm them, cross-legged on the roof, looking at the beautiful landscape dash by. The Sun had set, and the luminous round Moon was low in the sky to the east – huge and pale.

William reflected on his earlier thoughts of his body leaning towards, being drawn towards, home – towards Julia. With the big moon, resting low in the sky to the east, as _ **she**_ was in Toronto, he imagined it added strength to the force of her pull on him. Two celestial bodies, Julia and the Moon, working together to tug on him, in much the same way that the Sun and the Moon work together during the new moon and the full moon to heighten the flow of the tides, powerfully moving the oceans.

The train slowed as the tracks became windy, curving and bending around Lake Superior. Off in the distance, there was a rumbling. It grew louder and louder, until William and George figured out it was the sound made by a roaring waterfall. They feasted upon the magnificent view of Umbata Falls in the moonlit night. The recent rains fueled the power of the falls, dispersing a dense mist into the air cold December air, and with the moonlight from behind them, created a rare and magical sight.

"Sir," George whispered, his voice full of awe, "Do you see it… the rainbow?"

It was dim… required one's utmost staring and focus, but when it hit, it was stunning, the large curve of paled colors seeming to defy reality. "That's a moonbow, George" William returned the whispered wonder.

"A moonbow, sir?" George asked, his eyes never wavering from the enchanting sight.

"Amazing isn't it? Providing astonishing proof that the Sun still shines on the other side of the Earth, illuminates the Moon, which reflects its light into the night… that recycled sunlight tickling the tiny drops of water suspended in the air above the waterfall, splitting the wavelengths into remarkable colors…. Seemingly just for us," he explained. He waxed philosophical then, adding, "It makes me think of how my just knowing that Julia is in the world, far away, but there, waiting for me to get home, and how her presence reassures me, guides me in the world, lights my way…" His words halted abruptly. _Perhaps he had revealed too much?_

Impressed by William's knowledge of the science of the world, and his poetic words, and his amazing love for his wife, George found he could think of nothing to say. They soaked in the view until it had passed completely out of sight. Then, after a time, the cold taking its toll, they returned to stand in their corner of the train car full of live pigs being hauled to slaughter, getting closer and closer to Toronto, closer and closer to home.

) (

More hours had passed, with each man leaning against the wall of the train car in the dark. Occasionally one or the other of them would startle, for they were standing on putrid, slippery pig muck, and when they would drop from sleepiness, or the train would swerve or sway, and they would almost fall down, then suddenly they would jump to a more wakened state and recover their balance.

William was weakening, and he thought to himself about rousing George and going back up on the roof for a while…

The front door of their train car blasted open, the silhouette of Graveson suddenly standing in the doorway. Pigs spooked in a thunderous wave, barreling towards William and George's end of the car. Their bodies stood, absorbing the shock of the humungous swine bodies pounding into them, stepping on their feet, knocking them off balance. George hit the floor. William reached out and helped him to his feet, and oh so quickly, Graveson was in front of them, gun drawn. For the shortest of seconds, Graveson seemed to pause, perhaps he was trying to figure out which one of them was Codrum, which one of them he wanted to kill?

It was George who did it! Suddenly remembering the feel of using Kung Fu against an opponent, he swung into action, kicking Graveson's gun out of his hand, sending it flying through the pig-filled car into the dark, the sound of it landing and splashing through the muck indicating it had travelled far. Then, Graveson off-guard, William punched him in the nose, flinging him backwards and to the ground. Pigs bolted, parting the way for Graveson's body to the floor. William and George flew to the closest door, rushing at top speed for the roof.

They knew Graveson was relentless. He would take up chase. George reached the roof first, and began his dash towards the back of the moving train, finding his way in the whitish glow of the moonlight, William close behind.

A deafening, staggering gunshot pierced the air, diving William for the roof's floor. George only ran faster, getting further ahead. Quickly, William jumped back up, bolted for maximum speed, jumped to the next rooftop, only to fly to the floor again, somehow knowing another shot was being fired at him. The loud bang slammed from behind, whooshing the bullet passed its intending target once more.

George glanced back, seeing the detective once more hop up in front of Graveson, the ominous figure in the background stopping and bracing to take solid aim…

His eyes darted back to the roof floor. " _It's a handle!"_ George's brain screamed at him identifying the metallic bulge on the floor, at that same moment his brain also reminded him that he had seen a dark, looming, tunnel up ahead! George leaned down and pulled on the handle on the floor, lifting the large door into the whizzing wind. It was one of those rooftop ice compartments, empty now because it was winter. At first telling himself to jump into the rooftop compartment, George hesitated figuring with lightning-speed thought, " _No don't! You'll get trapped in there with no place to go – sitting ducks!_ "

Peering back towards the detective, he saw that the detective was very close, with Graveson a train car behind. Graveson wasn't running, but crouched, poised, balancing, honing his aim on the detective ahead of him. It was evident that Graveson was about to get smashed by the tunnel emerging bigger and bigger, closer and closer, from behind him as the train careened forward towards it.

"Sir!" George screamed with all his might, frantically waving the detective on. "In here! Tunnel!" he bellowed.

William dove for the opened compartment down in the floor. A shot rang out as George pulled the door shut with a bang! One, two, three, four, five, six… and then they heard the harrowing, echoing rumble of the train entombed within the rock-solid narrow tunnel.

The rooftop ice compartment consisted of a long, rectangular-shaped box in the ceiling of the train car, below it the car was crammed with frozen, packed sides of beef. William and George lay under the closed rooftop door, hearts beyond pounding, bodies recovering from the adrenalin-pumped escape, listening, waiting for the tunnel to end… Fearing that perhaps somehow Graveson suddenly fling the door above them opened and shoot them to death.

Taking what seemed to be their first breaths for hours after the terrible racket and blackness of the tunnel had ended, they had braved opening the door to see if Graveson waited for them outside on the roof. Now they stood on the roof as the train rushed on, having quickly checked to make sure Graveson had not jumped down between the train car they had hidden in and the one he had last been seen standing on, ensuring that the crazed killer was not down there hiding in wait for them. William said, "We'd best be on the lookout for more tunnels George," as he stepped back down into the ice compartment and used his pocketknife to remove Graveson's bullet from the lining at the back of the compartment. "I'd like to be able to tell if a bullet matches this one from Graveson's gun for any suspicious shootings in the future," he explained, pocketing the future evidence.

The moonlight had helped them survive Graveson's attack, and now it helped them investigate the scene to ascertain whether the assassin still posed a threat. Expecting blood splatter near where the tunnel would have impacted the man, they checked the rooftop of the previous car, finding no evidence that Graveson had been hit. "Perhaps he made it down in between the two cars," George suggested.

"Perhaps," William said, taking a deep breath, needing to think. "But if so, I would have expected him to come after us after the tunnel had passed," he added.

"Yes, he does seem rather intent on killing you," George agreed.

They thoroughly checked the area between the two cars, finding nothing to indicate that an injured Graveson had been there. Their own bodies still flexed at high-alert, they admitted that it seemed possible that somehow Graveson had survived the tunnel, figuring he either jumped completely off the train, either to his death or serious injury, or maybe he even landed in a snowbank as they had done earlier. Unfortunately, it also seemed possible that he might still be on this very train with them.

After imagining Graveson's likely means of killing them if he were still on the train, William suggested that they hide out in a different ice compartment until the stop before Toronto. They settled into the ice compartment in the last car of the train. William hoped any noises made by Graveson if he was still hunting them, as he checked each of the ice compartments ahead of them, might alert them to his approach.

Even though the ice compartment they were in was insulated, the design intended to hold the ice's cold temperature in, their body heat was no match for the cold December night air, the fifty-mile per hour winds created by the speeding train's motion, and the freezing-cold sides of beef packed to the gills below them. It was terribly cold. Thus, William and George lay for hour after hour after hour, shivering, feeling that sleep would threaten their very survival, for they would freeze to death if their body temperatures dropped any lower, and they needed to be alert to the potential attack from Graveson. Further, George was still soaking wet, and reeking, from his fall in the pig muck, and they were both ravenous, having had nothing to eat since dinner at Ettie's Coffee House.

William tried to calm himself down. He checked once again to make sure that Adomas' letter was safe. He started devising a plan for when they arrived in Toronto, thinking he would ask Detective Slorach to interpret the letter as soon as possible. " _As soon as we get off at the stop before Toronto, I'll call the Inspector, and then Julia,"_ he thought. But then he thought better of that idea. A call to reassure her _then_ , he figured, would still be too early, for he would not be out of the woods yet, still needing to arrest Davies and Mulligan. Perhaps it would be best _not_ to call her until he was certain it was done. He pushed the dread away once more, the nauseating thought floating up, that she would be angry with him for staying with Ettie.

He rolled over onto his back, as if changing the page, and let his eyes find the pale-white light peeking through the crack in the door just above him. "Julia could be looking at that exact same Moon," he thought. His mind replayed seeing the moonbow, and calm settled in with a deep breath, she was there, guiding him home, lighting his way, even if he couldn't see her, she was there, and he was getting closer each second, and it would all be fine as soon as he had her in his arms. William realized that he was hanging on by a string, and he knew with every fiber of his body that the other end of that string was attached to Julia, and he also knew that he was clinging to it with all his might, for his very grip on life. There was only one thing to do – he needed to get home to her, her. He needed to have her in his arms…

))) (((

The train rolled to a steady, smooth stop. The lack of motion woke them. The putrid smell in the air, much stronger than that they had become accustomed to from George, and the morning light through the crack in the door above them… And the sounds… Voices, and train car doors opening, and then the door of their train car below them… And workers, unloading the meat. And it dawned on them! They were at Davies Slaughterhouse!

"George," William whispered, "We're at Davies!"

"We must have slept through the stop," George concluded.

Every cell in William's body was in a panic. He had a history here, and it was not safe, NOT SAFE, to be here with no constabulary support on the way. These Davies men knew him, and had shown every willingness to kill him out of loyalty to their boss.

"What should we do, sir?" George asked.

William knew he needed to get a hold of himself if he was going to come up with an answer. They needed a plan, and they needed one fast!


	15. Chapter 15Losing that ONE Thing T

Chapter_14_Losing that One Thing?

Davies Slaughterhouse workers discovered a pair of hobos hiding out in one of their meat-packing train cars. Finding the abuse of such weaker men to be good sport, they began their bullying. "Well, lookie here boys, we got us some hobo vermin plundering themselves on OUR meat. "Block their escape around the car – Now!" their leader bellowed as the two trapped men attempted to flee, slamming open the rooftop door to their little ice-compartment box in the ceiling of the train car.

Once the two hobos stood on the roof, now out in the light of day, the leader recognized one of them. "Oh my, what have we here?" he declared sarcastically, like a cat toying with a mouse, "If it ain't that pig-lovin' detective… Murdoch wasn't it?"

"I believe you're right, Jim. It is that piggy smellin' detective. Must a gotten down on his luck, heh," he ribbed his friend. "Chet, we'll be needin' the rifle – quick!" the large man hollered out towards the building.

"George," Murdoch whispered, "the only way out is forward along the rooftops."

"But sir, that will only bring us deeper into Davies' place," George worried.

Unnoticed by anyone, a clean-shaven man in an overcoat and suit approached. Taking up his rear were five other men. They appeared to be rather… official.

Chet ran out of the building wielding the rifle, "Here boss," he said rushing to hand the weapon over to Jim. Immediately the two men on the roof took off running the only direction not blocked by the mob, forward, on the top of the train. Jim took aim…

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Clegg's voice yelled out.

Instantly William and George recognized his voice, glanced down to see the spy standing there as they ran by, up above him and his men. Not slowing his rushed exodus, William held eye-contact with Clegg for a brief moment, recognizing him. Clegg saw in the look, gratitude.

Turning his attention back to the man with the rifle, Clegg said, "Gentlemen, gentlemen, I am with the United States of America Meat and Animal Byproducts Department," he lied. I believe murdering two innocent men down on their luck right in front of us might be inconducive to our ongoing business with your company. Might upset Mr. Davies, hmm?" he asked.

Thus, William and George escaped Davies Slaughterhouse thanks to the help of none other than Alan Clegg.

Safely outside of the confines of Davies Slaughter house, William asked George if he had any money. Fortunately, between the two of them they were able to gather up enough money to afford a cab. The detective explained that he would need to have Adomas' letter officially interpreted before they could arrest Davies and Mulligan. Both men exhausted, drained, starving, pounded and still filthy, reeking from days and days and days of hobo life, the detective asked, "George …I would like to stop off at my home before going to the stationhouse, or interrogating suspects…"

"Of course sir," he interrupted before the detective could finish, "You need to be Detective Murdoch rather than a homeless hobo if you are to be taken seriously."

Honestly, William had ulterior motives. He found himself longing, intolerably, urgently longing, to have Julia in his arms, and the feelings had only grown in intensity now that he was almost home. He decided to let the constable's explanation stand for it was also true – but, had he been properly clothed, he would still have found the need to get home to her, to hold her body close to his, to be irresistible. So much so, that it took all the self-control he had _**not**_ to tell the carriage driver to _gallop_ the horse to his address. Perhaps it was the presence of George sitting next to him in the cab that provided such restraint.

))) (((

Both Julia and Eloise were in the kitchen. Eloise had already prepared the doctor's breakfast and they were making plans for the day. They both looked at each other with excitement upon hearing the sound of the front door and then William's voice. Julia quickly ascertained that he was speaking with George. Forgetting her state of being – huge with pregnancy, which normally rendered her movements more similar to those of a beached whale than to those of the relatively young, healthy woman she was, she found herself standing before him in the foyer so quickly, she wouldn't ever remember thinking that he had gotten home. The sight of him – the irrefutable sight of him, brought her to pause, ever so briefly, her forward motion slowing without ever actually ceasing her inertia.

Having spent nearly a week battling with her rage and her worry, Julia now had only one thought, more an image in her mind really, or a profound awareness, there was only one thing – " _To be in his arms_." She was surprised by the look of him, although she was not aware of it right at that moment, finding that her recognition of his suffering only surfaced in her memories of the moment, later. He seemed to be shorter, smaller somehow. And when their eyes met, her heart sunk away, for his expression revealed to her a deep sense of having been battered and damaged, profoundly hurt, down to his very core.

This was not the first time their eyes had reunited under such circumstances. The situation now was not so different from when he had lost his memory and ended up in Bristol, or when he had been pulled ashore after having been found by the constables floating unconscious on a log in the river, barely surviving after jumping in after James Gillies. Yet, never before had her heart felt such a pull from a simple gaze into his eyes, his need for her utterly inescapable.

She called his name, as she ran to him, seeing his face brighten. Strangely, her call would not make it into either of their memories, for the relatively slow speed of sound as compared to the speed of their force of attraction to one another, its extraordinary power rivaling that of the speed of light and the strength of gravity, meant that her call would never be recorded in their memories, arriving too late to fit into a commonsense understanding of the world.

Their bodies connected with a light 'thump,' clicking into place as they were meant to be. Eloise and George looked on as the couple embraced, their attention drawn to the sight by the sheer beauty of William and Julia's love for each other. William hugged Julia like a drowning man hugs the shore – as if his life depended on having her safe and well and in his arms.

His unshaven cheek scratching against hers, his lips near her ear, _finally_ his breath on her, he asked, "Are you alright?"

"Yes, I'm fine," her reply came, offering reassurance.

He pulled back, dropped his eyes down to her belly, "The baby?" he asked. After a slight hesitation, considering on some level of asking her permission, but lacking the patience, William covered her belly with his hand, protectively, affectionately.

"Yes William, we are both fine," she replied, her blue eyes calling his up to touch hers. She needed to see that he was truly alright, worry still lingering under the surface from his earlier look. "And you… Are you alright, William?" her eyes threatened tears, no one in the room would be able to say if they were happy tears or sad ones.

He was slow to answer, finally replying, "No injuries," with a wrinkle of the corner of his mouth, and she knew he was hurting, and he saw her recognition, felt her empathic caress, prompting him to release a big sigh. Julia reached up to cover her mouth, a part of her noticing the horrible smell coming off of him, and asked, "Is the case solved?"

Again, he offered his 'admitting it' wrinkled face. "Not yet, but we have something crucial… It is a long…" William scooped her up into his arms once more, explaining, "I just wanted to see you," with a whisper. After a moment, the couple broke off the hug once more. William noticed Eloise standing in the hallway to the kitchen, her smile exploding on her face.

"Detective," she declared…

"Oh it is so good to see you, Eloise," he blurted out excitedly as well.

Business-like, she pulled back her emotions, "You must be starving," she insisted, "Come, I'll make you both a big breakfast."

No one would need to invite George twice, he exclaimed, "Oh! That sounds wonderful!" quickly moving passed the couple to hurry to the kitchen.

William's hand at the small of Julia's back as they followed along towards the kitchen, he said, "That is very kind, Eloise, but I'm afraid I won't have time. Perhaps George can have some while I change."

Julia added, "We'll pack something up for you."

Though Eloise said nothing, she too had seen William's look. This was a man who needed nurturing. She would be making him breakfast too.

Eloise indicated a chair at the kitchen table for George. As he walked by Julia, she felt her body recoil with the rank, reeking odor of the man. "My goodness George," she reacted, "How can you possibly smell that bad?"

So, exhausted and worn out that George could not even muster up the energy needed to feel embarrassed, he replied, "I fell… in… pig slop, I guess you'd call it."

Julia nodded, " _That would do it_ ," she thought, simply answering with a, "Mm."

"Julia, could you look at a knife wound George got… on his side? It was only minimally treated," William asked.

"Certainly," she answered. As some of the harshness of their experiences started to become more apparent, she felt it… inside of herself, a reminder stirring, of her own awful experiences while he was away. First just a twinge, her anger. It did not fit; it was out of sorts with the world. The sensation was similar to when a familiar song starts to play, but the tune has not yet become synched with the brain. The melody is tried in slot after slot, and none of them seem to be fitting with it, and then suddenly, it snaps into place, and like that, she remembered that he had kept a secret from her, about meeting with Ettie Weston, and with her new-felt awareness there was searing hurt bubbling up with her anger. Yes, she remembered now, she was angry with him.

Trying to cover, off-kilter but hiding it, Julia called after William as he headed out of the room, "Bring me a shirt for him so he doesn't have to wear this filthy one. Oh, and the penicillin too. It's down in my lab, and my medical bag…" she added, feeling her cut heel throb and sting with remembering leaving the medical bag up in their bedroom so she could treat her injury from stepping on the broken locket in the dark.

Eloise had many pans going on the stove, but felt her eyes pulled to look as George removed his coat and shirt for the doctor to check the wound just below his right armpit. Julia too struggled with the urge to take a peek. Both women would remark to themselves on how much more attractive the detective's naked chest was, although he was older his workouts with lifting weights clearly paid off.

Immediately recognizing the significance of the type and location of the slice in his side, Julia said, "George, I've seen this type of wound before. You were lucky."

"Yes doctor, the detective told me it was you who had figured out the dangerous technique. But, it wasn't luck… The detective saved me," George explained.

" _Of course he did,"_ she thought, unsure even to herself whether it was a thought filled with pride or sarcasm.

Eloise placed butter and jam down for the toast. "Will you be wanting these things?" she asked, her eyes dropping to the rancid, filthy coat and shirt draped over an empty chair.

"I will have to wear the coat, I'm afraid, but you could throw out the shirt for me," he suggested. "Thank you," he added quickly.

"George, this wound is infected," Julia said, thinking it was the worst stitching job she recalled ever seeing. She wondered if her husband had done it, certain he would have done a better job of it than this.

George's eyes bugged out of his head as Eloise put some golden-brown toast down on the table for him, prompting his stomach to somersault with anticipation. "We have not eaten since dinner on Saturday," he offered. It would be difficult to wait until the doctor had finished.

In her mind Julia was calculating, " _Saturday, Sunday, today is Monday… That is quite long indeed."_ Needing to wait for the supplies, she said, "Go ahead George. I'll finish when William gets here." She changed her gaze to the stove, asking, "Eloise, do you think…"

"Don't you worry doctor," Eloise interrupted proudly, "I am already making the detective some." Eloise put a plate of eggs and bacon and sausage and even pancakes down in front of George. He immediately dug in, wolfing down the hearty food.

) (

Upstairs, William had taken off his dirty hobo clothing, wrapping it up into an oilskin bag – the one that had inspired his idea for his backsack – hoping to contain the lice. He took out the small bottle of lice shampoo George had given to him and placed it in the bathroom for later. He shaved and dressed, regretting putting his stinky body into such a nice, clean suit, for it would surely ruin it, but he decided he had no choice. He found his eyes stuck staring at their bed. It was not yet made; Eloise would get to it later. But he noticed his pillow was missing, the observation surging his gut with pain, for he immediately knew the reason, felt it sink in hard – like a punch in the stomach, complete with the urge to bend over slightly with the aching of it.

Lifting Julia's medical bag, and a shirt he had pulled out for George, he imagined himself looking into the living room and spotting the bundle of bedding waiting there for him… with such sadness. He sighed and went down the stairs, denying himself the opportunity to look as he passed by the living room; he went on to go down to the basement for the penicillin. Failing, lacking the self-control, when he got back upstairs, he checked, and saw his red pajamas folded up neatly on the top of the pile by the couch. A wrinkle formed at the corner of his mouth, for he could not deny that he deserved it. And yet, the pain of it… It threatened to undo him, for she was the _**one**_ _thing_ that had kept him alive, and now…

William turned on his heel, so quickly he felt dizzy. He would not let himself fall into anguish. He was stronger than that. And he had a case to solve. " _Keep moving forward,"_ his instincts advised _._

Pausing in the kitchen doorway, the delicious smells seeming to bowl him over, William had to admit he was very glad to see a plate of breakfast waiting for him in his usual spot at the table. He sat, thanking Eloise profusely.

"Could have been worse, could have been _**ham**_ , sir," George shared his inside joke with William.

Desperate to eat, William barely managed to reply between bites, "True George."

George was wise enough to know that _**if**_ the detective wanted his wife to know about his close call with Jonathan Armour almost killing him and adding his body to the Christmas hams, well then, _**the detective**_ would do so himself… However, he figured it would be acceptable to share with the women some of the revolting things they had seen involving the preparation of meat in general. There was an _irony_ , George knew it, to his describing the slaughtering, butchering, and packing of meat, with the mixture of blood and disease all around, and some of the things that got thrown in with the meat, all being just nauseating! And yet, right there at that very table, both of the men who knew the disgust _first hand_ were scarfing down the food, bacon and sausage included. _Ironic_ to say the least.

"So, how did you gentlemen find Chicago?" Julia asked.

George was nearly done with his food, closer to satiated, he answered. "It is truly the most awful, down-trodden, vile, brutal, inhumane place I have ever seen… Now perhaps the city itself is not so bad, but I do believe that where we were in the stockyards was not but a step above hell," he said.

"Oh, my," Julia responded. The extent of George's reaction unsettled her somehow. Julia glanced over at William, finding that her worry for him was back.

George had gone on, with a happier tone adding, "But we met a fellow writer – researching a book, named Upton Sinclair. A marvelous, though painful, book I'm sure it will be."

Julia noticed that William nodded in response to that.

George continued, "Sinclair, 'Sin' we called him, he followed the lives of some of the hobos he met on the train – was going to use our tales, till we told him who we really were. My God doctor, these people have seen nothing but the degrading, horrible side of life… To be honest, it's a side of life that I had never really let myself see so clearly before, dreadfully abysmal and hopeless," he finished shaking his head.

"It sounds quite terrible," she replied, her eyes more blatant in their observing of William now as she remembered how he had hesitated before answering her question about him being alright – only saying that he had no serious _physical_ injuries. " _He's keeping his eyes down on his plate_ ," she told herself. " _Doesn't want me to look at me… Or avoiding me? Maybe he saw his bedding by the couch?_ " she wondered. _Oh, how she wished she hadn't, but she did then, remember that she was angry with him… her jaw tightened against her will, incited with the memories of the phone call and learning about Ettie and his "secrets."_ She took a deep breath and asked, her eyes still watching her husband, while she raised her cup to her lips, "And Winnipeg?"

She swore she saw it – William flinched.

Astutely aware of the interactions of those around him, George sensed the tension. He had figured there might be trouble with the detective's… with his _relationship_ with Madam Weston, now feeling the anxiety between the couple, he was certain he had been right. He jumped in, "Oh, Winnipeg was much better. As far as the conditions of the meat-packing industry, in Winnipeg, as here in Toronto, they still mostly deal with live animals – that get slaughtered and distributed locally, or shipped alive to other locations to be slaughtered – Though they are starting to do some of the meat packing there too, particularly Burns…" George remembered that Burns' Winnipeg plant was huge, and speculated it likely involved repulsive conditions also. "After seeing how disgustingly the meat is handled in Chicago – I swear I thought I'd never eat anything made from an animal again. But in Winnipeg I trusted the food to be what it is supposed to be. And we finally had a decent meal," he added.

Julia decided not to push the Winnipeg issue in front of George and Eloise any farther. "Well," compassion in her voice, with a dose of concern, "You two look like you lost twenty pounds each – and like you hoisted the weight up onto your shoulders, where now it seems you are carrying the weight of the world." She studied the reaction of her husband, beautiful brown eyes still down on his food, he wrinkled a corner of his mouth again, acknowledging her accuracy.

George marveled, "That's very good doctor. May I use it – in my writing?" he asked.

"Yes, of course, George," she answered.

George's plate was empty, wiped completely clean, prompting Julia to suggest she finish treating his wound. As she worked on it, she asked, "So, who is responsible for this… attempt at stitching you up George?"

He answered so quickly, cringing somehow with regret the moment his words hit the air, "Miss Weston's cook."

Even Eloise tensed up with the mention of _Ettie Weston's_ name!

"Oh, I see," Julia said, sounding as if she had just been punched in the stomach. Changing the subject, coping as best she could she said, "I'll give you some of this penicillin to use to treat it each day – for a week George," her tone sounding authoritative. He agreed. She removed the infected stitches, cleaned up the wound, and applied the penicillin, finishing with a bandage. George put on the detective's shirt – Julia finding herself comparing again, noticing he did not fill it out as well as her well-sculpted husband did.

Now finished eating as well, William pushed his plate away and said, "Let's get going." He stood, helping Julia up, aware that it was quite difficult for her to rise in her state.

"Thank you, Ladies," George said. George couldn't help but frown with the thought of having to put his rancid, mucky coat back on to go out into the cold December morning. He took up the rear as William and Julia headed out to the foyer. Eloise hurried to tag along.

William put on his coat, his eyes glancing at the place where his homburg should be. Without hesitation, he moved on, reaching out for his maroon scarf. His back to the room, he thought, " _Perhaps she was mad enough to…_ " He wrinkled his face and reached up to rub his brow…

Even without being able to see his face, Julia knew he was feeling stressed. She felt such regret, now, for her anger with him. _However_ , she coached herself, reminded herself, that she had learned, the hard way, that denying one's feelings only leads to trouble, and so she couldn't deny her anger now, even if she wished that she didn't feel it.

Finding he needed to push himself to do so, William turned to face her. The couple stood facing each other, hesitant, each unsure of what to say, of what to do. William took a deep breath and said, "I guess we'll talk later," and leaned in to kiss her good-bye.

Turning her head so his kiss landed softly on her cheek instead of her lips, she replied, her tone serious, "Yes William… we will." She pulled back from him, terminating their embrace. Then, William and George took their leave.

))) (((

With George's suspension only half done, William walked into the stationhouse alone. His unexpected presence caused quite a stir, albeit for the Inspector, who did not seem surprised to see him, and called him into his office. William felt concerned when the Inspector closed the door.

"Is everything alright sir?" the detective asked.

"Alan Clegg called me just now," the Inspector answered. His expression suddenly changed, and looking puzzled, he noted, "It seems the man has nearly lost his hearing…"

William's mind flashed to remember boxing Clegg's ears when the spy snuck up on them while they were hiding from Graveson between the hay-bales in the train. Admittedly, he felt a pang of guilt.

The Inspector took a deep breath and got back to his original point, "Clegg wanted to be informed of anything you brought back on the Baltavesky case. Said he had just seen you over at Davies Slaughterhouse. Why is it the United States is involved in this, Murdoch? Bloody hell, I swear if Meyers weren't dead, I'd half expect him to show up too."

"Actually sir," William replied, "Meyers isn't dead… And unfortunately, he'll probably show up," the detective said with a frown, prompting the expression to spread to his superior's face as well.

William felt his face growing red with the stress of it all. He blew out a puff of air, trying to lower his internal pressure. "I think it best we sit, sir," he started, gesturing to the Inspector's chair as he took a seat in front of the desk. "He rubbed his forehead and proceeded, "To be honest, I'm not quite sure where to begin…"

So he began at the beginning. William informed the Inspector about going to Chicago instead of Winnipeg, and meeting Sinclair who had known Adomas Baltavesky and then put them in touch with the same policeman who had gotten Baltavesky a job at Armour & Company. They also got jobs there. He told him that he had broken into Armour's office to find any records that would show that Baltavesky could have been the one to sabotage the meat last summer…

 _Much to William's chagrin, it seemed that even the Inspector knew of his being that despicable toff, Jonathan Ogden Armour's, cousin. How could it possibly be that everyone knew except him – about HIS own relative!?_

Getting back to his story, William explained that he had torn the proof out of the employee pay record's logbook only to then be caught by Armour, who almost shot him. ( _He left out the part about Armour threatening to put his body in the Christmas hams_ ). He explained that he had managed to escape with the evidence, but had feared he had accidentally killed Armour in the process, adding that he was very relieved to learn that the wealthy American businessman, and Julia's first cousin, was fine, having survived William's hitting him over the head with a giant bronze pig statue. He said that, "After that, both Clegg, and Armour's hired assassin – Graveson, a creepy man who kills using the same American spy technique that was used in that old case about the gold… Remember sir, the gold they tried to use to support the Confederacy in the US?" he paused to ask, receiving a nod.

William continued, "Well, this Graveson killed Adomas Baltavesky with that technique, and tried to kill George with it too," his voice rose as he became excited. "He fakes a handshake and then stabs the victim under the right armpit," he described, pretending to put his body through the motions of being stabbed. "George needed stitches," he added.

The Inspector found his heart racing a little with the detective's story, concerned for the constable. He would miss the little bugger if he had gone and gotten himself killed. "How is Crabtree?" he asked.

"Oh, he's fine sir," William replied, wondering to himself if either of them would ever truly be fine after this whole ordeal.

William told him the rest, that Clegg had held him at gunpoint and taken the evidence from him, the ripped-out log records of Baltavesky's dates and train routes, and then how they had found Ieva Baltavesky's landlady, who had given them the last letter written by Adomas to his wife. William explained that the letter, which he pulled out and unfolded for the Inspector to see, was in Lithuanian, but that the landlady had interpreted it for them, that it named both Davies and Mulligan as hiring Baltavesky to sabotage the packed meat last summer. The same meat that had killed five innocent people. He suggested that the letter could provide evidence to incriminate Davies and Mulligan in committing sabotage, and in the manslaughter of the five victims that sabotaging that meat had caused, innocent victims from both the United States and from Canada.

The inspector was impressed with the Murdoch's plan. And, even though Brackenreid wasn't sure that Clegg would have a problem with their locking Davies and Mulligan up for hiring someone to sabotage American meat and indirectly killing those five people, he did figure that Meyers would. And, now that he knew Meyers was alive, he suspected that Meyers would be the one who would try to block the detective's investigation, both in the name of national security, and because Meyers would want to avoid incriminating important Canadian toffs like Mr. Davies in committing such crimes.

Further, because Davies and Mulligan's crimes were aimed against a big, important, meat-magnate American toff like Jonathan Armour, the Inspector suspected that Meyers would want to keep it quiet, hoping to avoid alerting the United States to a Canadian's crimes against them.

William informed the Inspector that he had figured out that Clegg and Meyers had worked most of this out last summer. Meyers covered up what they now knew was an _American's_ murdering of a Canadian – Adomas Baltavesky (who was slain by Graveson), in trade for the American toff Armour admitting, lying when doing so, that his company was at fault for the bad meat, and then funding the addition of several more icing stations along the train routes. They concluded that Clegg too might try to stop them from making arrests now because the whole case might lead back to Armour's involvement in murdering Baltavesky – a Canadian. The whole thing ended up circular, messy, and made their heads hurt.

In the end, Brackenreid agreed, saying, "You'd best be quick about getting Mulligan or Davies to confess, Murdoch," his bark reluctantly giving his detective permission to move forward. "You'll need an official translation…"

"I figured Slorach could do it," William rushed to say, "And I think I can prove that Adomas Baltavesky wrote the letter – by matching the handwriting, and even getting his fingermarks, from the earlier letters we have that he wrote to his wife. We have Ieva's fingermarks on file, so we can eliminate hers – if the other fingermarks on the old letters and this new one match, then we can prove it was Adomas who wrote it."

Quiet between the two men for a moment, William then added, "I can keep the investigation away from Adomas Baltavesky getting killed… keeping Graveson, and Armour, out of it, sir," he argued, wanting his support. He gave his final emotional argument before he left to begin the work, "We know Mulligan killed Ieva Baltavesky, sir. Tons of evidence, all of it unusable or circumstantial, the murder weapon we can't use – the letter-opener that matches the victim's wound and that has Mulligan's fingermarks on it, and the green bloody carpet from his office which has human blood on it and the fibers from it match those in the victim's nose and mouth…" William shook his head, still finding it hard to believe they couldn't catch the slimy murderer, adding, "Useless because Mulligan claims there are many carpets that could match the fibers in the victim's nose, and that the blood on his carpet was from a man who had cut off his finger while butchering pigs at the slaughterhouse."

Then William remembered that Mulligan had murdered more people than just Ieva Baltavesky. Anger clenched his jaw as he said, "Sir, we know he killed his worker, Kempsey, too, the only man who could say he knew Mulligan had killed Ieva, Kempsey was the man who moved her body after Mulligan killed her…" William lifted his eyes, so big and brown, to the Inspector's, full of pleading. This was personal too. "They sent Kempsey's body down the line sir, like they tried to do with Jackson and me," his detective pushed.

"Yes, Murdoch," the Inspector said as he opened the door, "You will have anything you need to get him. Davies too, if you can prove it. But like I said, best be quick."

))) (((

William figured that Meyers, whom he knew for a fact had been in Ettie's room in the Coffee House in Winnipeg at the time when he and George had left on Saturday night, could not possibly get to Toronto any sooner than late tonight. And even that would require that Ettie had betrayed him the next morning and had informed Meyers about the letter they had found. Based on backwards planning, William would arrange interrogations of Mulligan and Davies for late afternoon, with Mulligan first because they would probably need Mulligan's confession to get Davies to confess. William was fully aware that he would need to conduct these interviews _before_ Meyers could get to Toronto, and he would have to do so with any evidence he had gathered by that time. It was a race against the clock.

))) (((

Inspector Brackenreid stood on the outside of the metal-meshed Interrogation Room door, watching his top-notch detective question the manager of Davies Slaughterhouse, Mr. Mulligan. His nerves were on edge, for this was only the _first_ interrogation the detective had on the roster this evening. The next one was of Hogtown's biggest meat-magnate, well possibly Toronto's second biggest meat-magnate because some would debate that Mr. Burns, Canada's _Cattle King_ , was bigger than Mr. Davies. These were powerful men, who could cause them a great deal of trouble, he suspected even mortal danger. And their power could sweep in from above them too, bringing in the likes of government men, like Terrence Meyers or even the American Alan Clegg. In his head, he cheered Murdoch on. Subconsciously, he repeatedly checked the clock. In this case, time was of the essence. They needed this confession, and they needed it quickly.

"Did you hire Adomas Baltavesky to intentionally spoil meat from your employer's competitors, intentionally masking the act so that innocent people would consume the meat and die, thus creating a public scare designed to put your employer's competitors' meat-packing businesses out of business?" William asked the suspect from his side of the interrogation room table. The letter that the detective's entire case revolved around, written by the now dead Adomas Baltavesky, sat in a folder on the table surface between the two men. "Was your employer, a Mr. Davies, threatened by his competitors' recent success with the invention of refrigerated train cars in which to ship butchered and frozen packed meat? Does not such a method's success render his entire slaughterhouse business as worthless, as Davies Slaughterhouse is the only big business that, instead of killing the animals and packing and chilling the meat and then shipping it cold to distributors, slaughters live animals near the distribution site?" the detective asked.

The suspect sat across from him, looking smug, so far refusing to react to the detective's questions. His body language suggested that he was bored.

The detective continued, laying out his case, still working on motive, "And then, after sabotaging Armour, I hold you went after Canada's "Cattle King," a Mr. Burns… particularly after Mr. Burns started packing pork as well as cattle, pork being Davies' specialty… Giving Toronto its nickname, actually - "Hogtown." Americans like Armour and our own Mr. Burns were going to put Davies Slaughterhouse out of business if they remained successful, were they not? You had to do something to stop them, had to do something to help Mr. Davies."

Murdoch leaned forward, lowering his voice, suggesting secrecy, intimacy, "The strike in Chicago was your big chance, Mr. Mulligan. You and Mr. Davies figured you should strike while the iron was hot. The Americans… Armour, Brown, Durham, they were struggling with the strike. It would be easy to get your man, Baltavesky, inside one of their establishments because of it."

The detective's voice hurried, growing close, "You hired Baltavesky for your employer, Mr. Davies. You told him exactly how to sabotage the meat on the train, by throwing out the ice after the train left each icing station, and then making sure to leave the ice in the rooftop ice compartment after the last icing station, cooling the already-spoiled meat so that when it arrived for distribution the workers there wouldn't suspect the meat had gone bad. You arranged to pay Baltavesky five hundred dollars to complete the sabotage…"

William watched as Mulligan flinched with the mention of the _exact_ amount Baltavesky was paid. _He had him!_

"Then you hired him to do the same thing to Burns' meat – particularly the packed pork," Murdoch added, tapping his finger on the table top for emphasis. _Everything he had just said to Mulligan was written down, in the letter that sat waiting on the table. William knew Mulligan was scared – he had shown that he knew too many details…_

"You know Murdoch," Mulligan said, sounding completely calm and in control, "I thought with your reputation that you might…" Mulligan shook his head, "You have no proof detective. No witnesses, no evidence…"

Detective Murdoch opened the folder that had been lying on the interview table, revealing Adomas Baltavesky's letter that he had written to his wife Ieva. He placed the important letter on top of the folder and pushed the folder and letter forward towards Mulligan.

Instinctively, Mulligan stopped talking. He could not read the letter because it was not in English or Gaelic, but he could see his own name written on the page, and Mr. Davies' name too.

Outside, watching, the Inspector felt a smile building on his face. " _Bloody hell, that Murdoch's good_ ," he thought, " _He's got him now._ "

William clasped his hands in front of himself on the table, letting the suspect peruse the letter and said, "This letter has been translated from Mr. Baltavesky's native Lithuanian. It has been matched to other letters of Mr. Baltavesky's that have come into our possession, by both matching the handwriting and by matching fingermarks…"

Looking more worried now, Mulligan rushed to say, "You have no idea what Adomas Baltavesky's fingermarks look like, detective. We both know that. You're bluffing!" he declared crossing his arms across his chest.

"Oh, but I do know what his wife's look like," the detective said.

Mulligan's eyes bolted up to meet the detective's. It seemed that mentioning Ieva Baltavesky's murder indirectly, for that is how the constabulary had come to have the woman's fingermarks in the first place, and it seemed that even referring to _that_ crime indirectly had sparked a bit of fear in the man.

Detective Murdoch continued, "And I was able to find that her fingermarks were _not_ on this letter," he said touching his fingertip to the important letter on top of the folder. I didn't expect them to be… She had never received it. Ieva Baltavesky's fingermarks were however, on these letters." The detective pulled a pile of letters out from inside the folder and placed the pile next to the letter on top of the folder, allowing the suspect to see the older letters next to the incriminating letter.

Murdoch went on, "As a matter of fact, there was only one other person's fingermarks on any of these letters," he said, touching his finger down onto the pile of older letters, "besides Ieva Baltavesky's… those of her husband, the man who wrote her these letters, Adomas Baltavesky." Murdoch switched his finger to point to the more recent letter on top of the folder and said, "Those same fingermarks, those of Adomas Baltavesky, are also on this letter…"

The detective paused, let the significance of his words sink in. Then he added, his finger still pointing to the most recent, incriminating letter, "Also on this letter are the fingermarks of Ieva Baltavesky's landlady in Winnipeg. That is to be expected though, she was the one who opened the letter and she said she removed five hundred dollars that was inside this letter to pay for Mrs. Baltavesky's back rent." The detective leaned back, sitting taller. Suddenly he added, a slightly sheepish look on his face, "Oh, and mine. I handled the letter without wearing gloves it turns out," Murdoch admitted.

Mulligan remained quiet, but his complexion appeared pale, he was fidgety, nervous.

The detective went on, "This most recent letter, written by Mr. Baltavesky, names you, Mr. Mulligan, as the person who arranged the deal, told him how to commit the crime, and when to do it, even naming Armour, Brown and Durham from the United States as the targets. It says that you offered to pay Mr. Baltavesky five hundred dollars once the job was complete, and it even says that you arranged, and were present for, Baltavesky's meeting with Mr. Davies to receive his pay, which this letter says was placed in the envelope with this letter – the same five hundred dollars Ieva Baltavesky's landlady claims she removed from the envelope with this letter. It says that it was at this very meeting of the three of you, Baltavesky, you and Mr. Davies, that Baltavesky was offered another five hundred dollars to do the same thing to Mr. Burns' packed meat from Winnipeg to Toronto."

William paused and seized Mulligan's eyes with a confident look. He then said, "I do have proof, Mr. Mulligan. Mr. Baltavesky himself is my witness, and this letter is my evidence."

Wavering, eyes jumping from the detective to the door to the letter and back to the detective, Mulligan's eyes became teary with panic and dread… his mouth sputtered attempting to speak but failing…

A loud ruckus at the Interrogation Room door drew Mulligan's eyes suddenly. Murdoch's too.

 _ **It was Meyers!**_ He had grabbed a hold of the door handle and was loudly discussing the ceasing of Detective Murdoch's questioning of the suspect with the Inspector.

Opening the door and leaning in, Meyers said, "Murdoch, a word." Behind him the Inspector looked on, apologetic, defeated.

William's heart sunk.

"I told you! You had nothin' Murdoch! Nothing! Just wasting my time. I'm a busy man Murdoch…" Mulligan hollered after him as William pushed away from the table, collected his letters and tucked them into the folder and carried it out with him.

As William walked down the hallway behind the Inspector and Meyers towards the Inspector's office, he noticed that the feeling of despair was back, weighing down on his chest, stealing away his air. He hadn't realized it until it was gone, but he had gotten his old groove back in there. He felt strong, powerful, capable, competent. He hadn't felt those things for a long time. Those feelings were gone now.

By the time William settled onto the Inspector's couch, pulled an ankle up on his knee and sat with his leg crossed preparing to hear what he was sure would be the ways his investigation threatened national security, he found he had already given up on the case. Instead if working on ways to sway Meyers he was sitting there wondering how Meyers had gotten to Toronto from Winnipeg so quickly. _"Maybe he came in a dirigible,_ " he thought to himself, already accepting his loss.

William was impressed with how hard the Inspector fought with Meyers on his behalf, however. It took a phone call from the Prime Minister himself for the Inspector to concede, and for Mulligan to be released.

Before the Prime Minister passed down his decree, he asked to have Murdoch put on the phone. Meyers held out the receiver to Murdoch, who stood, for their conversation while Meyers and the Inspector listened in on his half of the conversation.

"Yes, of course sir," Murdoch answered into the phone, "We have a letter written by the man who committed the sabotage last summer against Armour & Company from Chicago. It names Davies and his manager Mulligan specifically, complete with dates and amounts paid – five hundred dollars – and arrangements for another sabotage, against Burns…"

Murdoch stopped suddenly, listening.

He continued a moment later, answering the Prime Minister's questions, "No sir, the man is dead. Um, he was found… No sir, the current death report says it was an accident… Yes, Baltavesky was Canadian… Of course, sir, the target of the crime was American… Yes, some of the victims were from Buffalo and New York City…"

There was a long pause while Murdoch listened, the Prime Minister offering his argument for his decision, explaining that the crimes Murdoch was investigating had the potential to bring about much strife and difficulty between Canada and the United States – difficulty that the Prime Minister intended to avoid if possible. He told Murdoch to trust that the deal made last summer between the two countries through Meyers and Clegg best resolved the situation, and he wanted it left alone.

"I understand, sir," Murdoch said respectfully. Yet, he was unable to let the injustice go so easily, thus he asked, "But sir, I wonder if you are aware that after that deal, Mr. Mulligan murdered Baltavesky's wife when she showed up looking for him, and then murdered the man who had helped him move her body…"

Again he waited, listening.

Murdoch took a deep breath and said into the phone, "No sir, I have not been able to gather sufficient evidence to arrest him for these murders… Yes, sir. Thank you, Prime Minister." Murdoch offered the phone receiver back to Meyers.

Meyers spoke into the phone, "Prime Minister?"

Brackenreid leaned forward from his seat behind his desk, Murdoch leaning over to hear. "Sorry me old mucker," he said.

William offered him his admitting it face, with its customary wrinkle at the corner of his mouth and said regretfully, "I failed to garner sufficient proof. There's nothing to be done."

"Yes, sir. Thank you, to you to, sir," Meyers finished his conversation and hung up the phone. "There you have it gentlemen. Mulligan must be released, and no interrogation of Mr. Davis," he concluded.

While the Inspector called Mr. Davies to let him know there would be no need to come down to Stationhouse #4 after all, Murdoch had a constable go to the Interrogation Room to collect Mulligan for release.

Meyers, Brackenreid and Murdoch stood in the hallway as the constable escorted Mulligan out of the stationhouse. The sleazy man attempted to goad Murdoch on his way out, making barely audible "oinking" pig-sounds as he passed by the detective.

The insult incited outrage in Brackenreid, who grabbed a hold of Mulligan and slammed the man up against the wall! "You watch your step Mulligan," he whispered through gritted teeth, his eyes searing into the man.

"What ever for?" Mulligan asked sarcastically, working to appear unfazed by the Inspector's onslaught.

"Let him go, Inspector," Meyers said calmly from behind him, his voice lingering in the air with the smoke from his cigar.

Anger and indignation surging through his veins, it took Murdoch's voice, his colleague and friend's words, to convince Inspector Brackenreid to let go of Mulligan.

"He's not worth it, sir – not worth stooping down to his level," William said.

Brackenreid huffed and stepped back, removing his fists from the man's, now twisted and mauled, clothing. Mulligan straightened his jacket collar, stuck his nose up in the air feigning pride, and marched out of Stationhouse #4.

Meyers, Murdoch, and Brackenreid all returned to the Inspector's office and took seats.

"Sorry Murdoch," Meyers said, receiving an intense look from the detective, with a wrinkle to the mouth and with an impassioned glance that endured, that showed the hurt.

Feeling certain that discussing the case would only dig salt deeper into his throbbing wounds, William changed the subject. "How did you get here so fast?" he asked, his tone one of being conquered more so than one of authentic curiosity, almost as if he was asking ' _How did you beat me at the game this time?_ '

The two men held each other's gaze, for an oddly long time, the Inspector thought. " _More to this than first meets the eye,_ " he thought to himself.

Terrence felt the Inspector watching them, wondering. Still holding eye-contact with William, he abruptly started to speak to the Inspector, "Murdoch here and I…" he said, slowly turning away from William to look at the Inspector, "We… shall we say, _ran into each other_ , in Winnipeg. Happened to be um, staying in the same place." He reached up and scratched his forehead, took a puff on his stinky cigar – _prompting the Inspector to remember that he had seen Meyers' cigar butt in the ashtray when they had had their big meeting with the Judge back when Crabtree received his suspension_ – _he should have known the man was still alive_. Meyers continued, "Even in the same lady's room, actually – just different nights," he added, telling more than he knew Murdoch would like him to.

Murdoch surprised the hell out of Meyers though, asking in front of Brackenreid, "Did _she_ tell you… that I had found Adomas Baltavesky's letter? Is that why you came so quickly?"

Shocked by Murdoch's boldness, directness, Meyers reminded himself that he should not have been. He had seen the detective go after suspects in such a manner previously. Needing time to think, he puffed on his cigar again, feeling the warm smoke fill him, embolden him, he replied, "No, _Miss Weston_ did not betray you Murdoch…"

Brackenreid's brain jumped into high alert, subconsciously tilting his body forward and perking up his ears. " _Oh this is getting bloody good_ ," he whispered to himself, " _Madam Ettie Weston… They both stayed in HER room! Oh, bloody hell, that would explain why the good doctor was so upset – it was the Madam who called and told her that Murdoch was expected – by HER – in Winnipeg, and he hadn't shown up! Bollocks!"_ his brain screamed, " _Unbelievable –_ _ **Murdoch**_ _and Miss Weston! And Meyers!_ "

Brackenreid forced himself away from his juicy, internal gossiping to get tuned back in, hearing Meyers say, "…It was Clegg actually, who erm, called me."

Perhaps trying to spare his buttoned-down detective any more stress by changing the subject, the Inspector jumped into the conversation there, "Meyers," he called both men's attention, "Did Clegg seem to be… becoming hard of hearing, to you… on the phone?" he asked.

"No," Meyers answered, "He seemed fine…"

Murdoch's mind replayed the scene of him boxing Clegg's ears. " _How far along on the trip back to Toronto were we at that point?_ " he asked himself. Reason told William that if Clegg had called Meyers to warn him to come stop his investigation _after_ he had boxed Clegg's ears, then Meyers would have been communicating with Clegg when he was having trouble hearing whatever Meyers said into the phone. Therefore, Clegg must have called Meyers _before_ William had boxed Clegg's ears. He interrupted Meyers and asked, "When did Clegg call you?"

Meyers remembered exactly the moment. Clegg had interrupted a rather lovely sexual moment he was having with Ettie, quite annoyingly, prompting Meyers to frown with the memory. He replied, "The morning you left Murdoch. He had spotted you and that constable sidekick of yours sneaking out of the Coffee House in the middle of the night the night before. I suppose he did the courtesy of at least waiting till the sun was _almost up_ before he called to notify me, of your actions, and the dangers they could pose to…"

William's brain annoyingly finished Meyers' sentence in his head, repeating the irritating man's most common directive, " _National Security._ " However, Meyers' response had lightened the load on his shoulders a little, because it had indicated that he could trust that Ettie had not betrayed him by warning Meyers about his impending success. There was that at least.

Both men turned to look at Brackenreid. It was all the Inspector could do just to keep his jaw from dropping in shock, so he clamped his lips together tightly and nodded at the men with a smile. "Well, he sure couldn't hear me in the phone," he said, "this morning when he called… here, to tell me Murdoch was back, and had once again almost been killed at Davies Slaughterhouse."

"How many men are trying to kill you anyway, Murdoch?" Meyers asked. Interestingly, he sounded impressed.

"Too many," Murdoch replied, receiving a light-hearted chuckle, for of course, _any_ was too many when it comes to having people trying to kill you.

With that, Meyers took his leave, the Inspector and Murdoch soon after. As the two men stood outside the stationhouse door in the cold night air, Brackenreid warned Murdoch that he shouldn't get too comfortable thinking Meyers would be out of the picture just yet. The Inspector figured Meyers, and even Clegg, would be watching from the shadows a while longer to make sure that they didn't go back to, "stir the pot more."

His tone defeated, Murdoch responded, "It shouldn't matter, sir. I'm all out of ideas anyway. It seems I lost on all fronts this time, Ieva Baltavesky's murder, that of her husband Adomas, and even the planned act of sabotage that killed those five innocent people. No justice served here, sir…"

"Well it wasn't for lack of trying Murdoch – and you did well, got close, bloody close," the Inspector encouraged.

Murdoch looked down the street, then he sighed. The Inspector felt the man's reluctance to head home – the realization sparking the reminder of the earlier spicy conversation between Murdoch and Meyers.

"Home to the missus?" he asked, trying his darndest to sound casual.

Murdoch clamped his lips together and gave the Inspector a light nod, and yet, his feet did not move.

Brackenreid leaned over closer to his detective, to his friend, and said, "Let me give you a little advice Murdoch," his tone authoritative, offering advice from one with more experience with these matters to a relative newlywed. "When it comes to marriage, if you behaved like a _dog_ you have to accept being put out in the _doghouse_. And if want to get out of the doghouse, Murdoch, then you'd best behave like a _man_ … like a _good_ _man_ … Still," he added with a bit of a frown, "it may be awhile."

" _Again,_ " William pondered, " _Again this analogy of my male behavior being like that of a dog_ ," his brain conjuring up memories of Julia telling him that Isaac Tash, and his _friend_ , had reassured her, after his ogling the waitress at George's Author's Awards Dinner, telling her that _ALL_ men act like _dogs_ – but that as far as _men_ go, her husband was a _good_ one. Guilt surged and seeped inside of him, with the flashes of memory of Julia crying so hard that she vomited after he had… lusted after the waitress.

William lifted his face to the Inspector's, his head slowly shaking, denying the thought. "But sir," he said, "I didn't… act like a dog."

Doubt spread over the Inspector's expression. He had heard what he had heard. "Me old mucker, you and Meyers… Madam Wes…"

Shaking his head more violently now, William blurted out, pleading, insisting, "But I didn't…"

"Does your wife know that?" he asked.

Motionless, quiet, reflecting, William hesitated. _Ettie had called Julia out of the blue. Told her she had been expecting me and I hadn't shown…_ "She has reason," he said, reluctantly.

The Inspector lowered his voice, leaned closer with his paternal advice, "Then talk to her Murdoch."

This time William's nod was firmer, more resolved, and after it, his feet stepped off to face the music at home. "Thank you, sir," gratefully, feeling better, he called back as he headed to hail a cab.

))) (((

Julia sat in the living room, in her nightgown and robe, reading the latest article Isaac had recommended on the transverse Cesarean section. Unfortunately, it was in French, so she was struggling with it, her mind constantly wandering off. _She wished William were home, and everything was fine with them, and he had made a warm, cozy fire, and they were lying together in his reclining chair…_

She heard the front door, stammering her heart into a frenzy. The door closed quietly. She waited there. He appeared in the doorway, unbuttoning his coat. Their eyes met, neither one of them ready, sure of, what they wanted to say.

"William," she said, grabbing a hold of the couch arm and rocking a bit to gain the momentum needed to lift herself off the couch. She noticed that his eyes had dropped down onto the bundle of his pillow and blanket and pajamas resting in the corner of the other couch – the one across from her – the longer one that he would sleep on. She wondered where her anger was – only palpably aware of her sadness.

"Sorry I'm so late," he said, stepping back into the foyer to hang his coat and scarf, the action reminding him once again, that his hat was missing.

She stood in the living room doorway and asked, "You must be hungry. Eloise made one of your favorites, beef stew."

He took a deep breath and turned to face her, forcing a smile. He was hungry. "Very good," he said.

"Come, I've been keeping it warm," she said, walking ahead of him towards the kitchen. "I think I might have some more. It seems I'm endlessly hungry these days," she said. She opened the oven and started to lean down to pull out the beef stew…

"I'll get it, Julia," William said, gently pushing his way next to her. "You sit," he requested, she acquiesced, sitting in her spot in the chair next to his, around the corner from where he would sit. He brought water and two plates of stew and forks to the table, stating, "Of course you are always hungry milady, you are in the process of making a baby."

She corrected him, " _ **Our**_ baby, William."

Somehow, to him, it felt like a dig. "Yes," he agreed as he sat in his spot at the head of the table.

Their ensuing conversation was strained, centering around safe topics, the meal – even the weather. Julia sensed the case had not gone well, and felt hesitant to ask him about it. She found her own curiosity pushed her to do so. "Did you have any luck on the case," she asked casually. So often when she asked such a question and things had not gone well, she would see him frown, or look frustrated… This look was quite different, and it bothered her.

"I'd prefer not to talk about it," he replied, "Suffice it to say, Meyers showed up…"

Her eyes widened, "I thought he was dead!" she exclaimed.

Now she received the frown. "No," William said, "He ejected from the rocket…" He paused, reminding himself that he had tried to hide his own flying with Pendrick in the flying suit from her, but continued, "Used Pendrick's flying suit to land in Borneo."

"I see," she said. Ever so slightly, her lips curled into a smile as she added, "So, Meyers showed up and stopped your investigation…" knowing he would join in finishing, "because of… _National Security_."

He had said it with her, and for the briefest moment, they were happy together, sharing a chuckle.

William took a deep breath. Finally, he said, "You are angry with me?" She could see the dread on his face.

She sighed, and answered frankly, "Yes," with a frown of disappointment. Oh, how she wished it weren't this way, but it was. There was no point in denying it.

"Because I stayed with Ettie Weston in Winnipeg?" he asked.

She nodded and said, "Because you kept it a secret from me that you were planning to do so, William."

He took a sip of his water, delaying for time to think. He reached up and rubbed his forehead. Then he rested his hands down on each side of his plate and took a deep breath. "Julia," he said, sounding resolved, "I did not want to upset you." He lifted his eyes to meet hers and hurried to explain, "I couldn't bear to think that I would have to leave, to go undercover, for weeks possibly, with you upset. It was hard enough leaving you – and with you so far along with the baby… our baby. But …" William shook his head with the pain of the memory, wishing he could push it away, "Remember how hard you cried – until you vomited even…" His eyes pleaded. He cleared his throat, "When I had looked at the waitress."

Julia lowered her voice, seeming to scold, "You did more than look William, and you know it."

He really didn't want to be reminded, but it was true. He was only grateful that she did not actually know the full extent of the fantasies that had passed through his mind at the time.

She noticed that he had dropped his eyes away from hers again. " _Probably shame_ ," she thought. Winning an argument tended to be irresistible to her, thus Julia decided, in that second, to take advantage of his weakness. "Perhaps you could have stayed somewhere else besides her _brothel_ when you were in Winnipeg," she insisted, stressing the word, "brothel," trying to shame him with the tawdriness of his choice, of the whole relationship. She took a champion's sip of her drink.

He rubbed his forehead again and then picked up his fork. "I needed someone who knew the wealthy men in the area… And who knew their darker sides..." William offered as an explanation. He took another bite of his food. "Ettie was perfect as an informant. It would have been illogical not to take advantage of that," he insisted. "Besides, she had known one of the victims – Ieva…"

"Then you should have told me that you planned to stay with her, and explained that to me… _**Before you left,**_ " she said, scalding, her eyes digging into him intensely, so that he refused to look at her so as not to feel the burn. It seemed she had re-connected with her anger.

"Perhaps," he said, chewing. He coached himself to remain calm – it seemed essential to do so to remain in some sort of balance as she escalated.

His lack of emotion, absence of any compassion for the pain he had caused her… The inherent dishonesty … and outright lack of trustworthiness he had shown in hiding his secret plans from her being unacknowledged, sent her further over the edge. She was angry. Yes. And she had every right to be so! "Well then, _perhaps,"_ she said, "you should sleep on the couch tonight, William Murdoch!" she stormed. Her anger fueled her strength, and she found that, despite her huge, pregnant belly, she stood from the table quite quickly and marched out of the room, William watching her arms flap and pump as she left. If she had been listening, she would have heard his sigh. But her mind was screaming, her own voice squeaking as it does when she is upset inside her head, " _Perhaps?! Perhaps?!_ _ **Perhaps**_ _you should tell your_ _ **wife**_ _if you are going to be staying in your old girlfriend's brothel?! Perhaps?!... What a little piss-ant!"_ She made every effort to pound her feet on each step as she barreled up the stairs, and then with all her might she slammed their bedroom door.

Once again, William was rubbing his forehead with the stress of it all. He was no longer hungry, now too upset – nauseous even. He sighed again, and got up to scrape the remainder of their beef stew into the garbage pail and then rinse the dishes and load up the dishwashing cupboard. "Welcome home," he managed to say out loud as he began the tasks.

He sighed, deeply, as he remembered how much he had longed to hold her in his arms, to smell her, and to know she was safe. His shoulders slumped with the memory of how desperately he needed to see her – as if having her in his arms would help him see that there was at least _**ONE**_ good thing in this world. And then his heart sank even lower. He had already known she was angry with him, from their brief conversation on the phone while he was in Winnipeg, and from what Ettie had said, but seeing the bedding laid out for him – ready for him whenever he had come home… That was solid evidence that she was _**very**_ angry after all, and had been since Ettie's call… And his missing hat too. Bleak, things felt extremely bleak.

Upstairs Julia was working to deal with her fury. Teeth clenched, she went to the bathroom and began her routine to prepare for bed, brushing her teeth, and such. She, too, remembered the way he had hugged her earlier, prompting her to sigh as well. He had been so desolate. Her mind flashed an image of a sturdy tree, its branches drooping with exhaustion and despair, blowing in the breeze, its leaves so dry from thirst that their rustling rattled more than whooshed – and the nearly imperceptible shift in it as the first few raindrops fell upon it, slowly drenching it in relief, and it began to suck in the nourishment, seeming to come back to life. She remembered the smell of him, putrid and rank. Her nose had rested on his shoulder. She assumed it was only the coat, his clothes.

Then she noticed it. He had placed a bottle on the bathroom counter. She recognized the chemical; it was a delouser. She rushed to finish with her teeth and then check to see what he had done with his lice-ridden clothes. She shuddered, for he must have been in such dank, revolting, places.

She found his clothing in a canvas bag in the closet on the floor. Relief spread though her, thinking the oil and wax on the canvas would contain the lice. But then she had a thought. " _I wonder if he left anything in the pockets?_ " she asked herself, and she quickly dug into the bag and began to search.

In the overcoat pocket she found a can-opener, his knife, and some photographs. She recognized two of the pictures, of Adomas and Ieva Baltavesky. Julia almost gasped, her heart skipping a beat as she looked upon the larger photograph. It was of her. She barely remembered the photo – it was from so many, many years ago. If she remembered correctly, it was from before they had begun courting. She had given it to him for a case – so he could obtain suspects' fingermarks, a plan she had marveled at at the time, it being another example of his brilliance. He would hand the suspect the photo, asking if they recognized the woman, and they would unsuspectingly leave their fingermarks for him to collect later. " _He kept it all these years_ ," she thought, the act striking her as romantic. " _Then he brought it with him on this trip?! Amazing,_ " she wondered, " _to remember me by_."

She imagined him leaning back against the wall of a moving train, hungry, dirty, cold, so far from home, and pulling the picture out of his pocket to retell him, to feel the stirrings of love inside of him. Julia sighed, the imaginings tugging at her heart.

She decided to investigate his effects further. She searched the pants pockets and found a bullet – and… " _What's this?_ " she thought, innocently, before the recognition of the item registered in her mind. " _A condom!"_ her mind screamed, " _He was carrying a prophylactic! We haven't used one for years!_ " Livid, so that that there was steam billowing out of her ears, she cursed him. Suddenly, fueling her anger, at the same time burning the wound deeper into her core, images ran through Julia's mind. She saw William's gorgeous backside, moving and pumping on top of _**Ettie**_ – her brown hair against his ear. Unbearable, the image! She stuffed the repugnant clothes back into the canvas bag and charged down the stairs to confront him.

William stood at the sink, rinsing off the plates. Deep in thought, his mind had moved backwards from his current stress with Julia to plague him with flashes of the horrors he had experienced in the _jungle_ , so he did not hear her storm up behind him. Thus, he was particularly startled when she slammed the prophylactic down on the counter. She clamped her jaw tight and tried to control her rage, resulting in her voice becoming a disturbing blend of a whisper and a scream. "You snake," she said with her eyes searing into his.

He was mesmerized by her fury, finding it hard to look away; he was so lost, not knowing why she was so very, very angry with him. She lifted her hand away from the condom on the countertop and waited for him to look down, waited for him to see it, waited for the moment he would know, that she knew, that he had planned ahead, that he had intended to make love to another woman, even if he would claim he never did actually perform the act. She saw fear, or maybe more worry, encompass his face before he started to say, "Julia, it's not what you…"

"Tell me William, why would a married man, a man married to a wife who is _**eight months pregnant**_ – with _YOUR_ child William – _**YOURS!**_ Why would such a man need a condom, hmm?" she asked seething.

His mind rushed, " _She thinks I was actually… that Ettie and I, or some other woman for that matter…_ _My God, how can I possibly explain about Jack, about what a "wolf" is, and a "sheep," and what Flannel Bull would have wanted me to do…what he would have wanted to do to me … to explain why Jack would give me a condom?"_ and, he felt such an enormous pain envelope and conquer his heart, for she trusted him so little, and he didn't think he could get her to see…

Julia stared, waiting for him to respond, daring him to try to lie to her. Impatience took her, giving into her urge to smack him, she reached out and slapped him across the face, shocking both of them with the sound of his cheek receiving the blow, only a split second before he felt the sting. "You disgust me," she said, and then turned and stomped away, breaking into a run once she was out of his sight, and falling into tears.

) (

Sometime later, William knocked softly on their bedroom door. "Julia … I need to come in… to get some things out of the bathroom," his voice asked from the other side of the door.

She remembered the medicine he had brought to remove lice. He would need to shower – he would have to use the shower in the hall bathroom. He would need his toothbrush, and things to shave with in the morning. He had work.

"Would it be alright if I come in?" he asked.

Not wanting to see him, she tucked herself down into the bed and called out, "Yes."

She heard the door open, tentatively. Straining to hear his footsteps as he crossed the room, she knew he was in the bathroom when she heard a drawer open and close and him gathering up various items. She laid, with her back to him, holding her breath, when he paused on his way out.

His voice scratched, betraying his worry, as he said, "You have the wrong idea about the prophylactic. There's another explanation, Julia. It's just that it is hard to explain…"

"I don't believe you William," she said, her tone devoid of emotion. "Please, just go," she asked.

Moments later, the sound of the door as it opened surged an urgency through her veins. Should she stop him?! She waited… It still had not closed. He was still there, hoping, praying she would call him back – that he wouldn't have to go. Her voice was so low he had to strain to hear her, "I'm sorry I slapped you, William. I truly regret it," she said.

Taking the time to take a breath, letting the small relief of her words raise his spirits, he responded quickly, "Apology accepted," and, although she could not see it, he wrinkled a corner of his mouth, for he was sorry too. He waited still, for an acknowledgement of his forgiveness, at least. Perhaps she would say, " _Thank you_ ," or " _Good_ ," or even just, " _Good night_." But no such gesture came. Eventually, accepting that she had given all she would give, he walked out and closed the door behind him, only the sound of the door clicking into place revealing that he had gone.

He showered in the hall bathroom – delousing as well as giving himself a much-needed scrubbing. With all of his might he fought the tears and the painful thoughts. Yet, they came despite his mountainous efforts. _She did not believe him. He had lost the ONE thing that gave his life meaning, joy, value. He had been through so much, was hanging on by the thinnest of threads, and it had just snapped, and now he had lost Julia. He had lost her, and he couldn't bear it._ Unable to remain standing, he collapsed to his knees in the shower, hugged his sides under the torrents of the falling water and rocked himself trying to find soothing, as he wrenched with the agony. He allowed the tears to come, believing the rush of the running water and the closed door would dampen the volume of his crying. He had miscalculated though, for the hall bathroom wall backed up against the wall in their master bathroom, and his lament was so powerful, that his sobbing breached the boundaries to be heard by Julia in their bedroom.

She found her body reacted before she could garner any control of it, before she had had a chance to consciously identify the sounds – buckling in half, finding the fetal position essential for absorbing the waves of his pain. Intolerable, and yet she withstood it. She fought the urge to go to him. The word, "secret," fueling her resolve. She stayed, leaving each of them alone and hurting.

William pulled back from the edges. Told himself he would cope. _She wouldn't leave him, not with the baby. It wouldn't be so bad, a loveless marriage…_ And his sobs would crumple him again, for his thoughts would remind him that she didn't love him anymore. After a time, he emerged from the hall bathroom, wrapped in a towel, for his pajamas were downstairs in the living room, waiting for him down there… _in the doghouse_ – the canine label giving him the tiniest flicker of hope because the Inspector had said that there might be a way out, if that were the case.

He carried in his arms all the toiletries he would need for the morning, shaving cream, spare toothpaste, his toothbrush. He would leave them in the downstairs half-bath under the stairs. In there he would prepare for work in the morning, only needing to get into their bedroom for his clothes, then he would go into work to face his failures there as well…

Down in the living room, William built a fire, longing to be embedded in warmth, hoping it would provide some of the comfort he needed. He decided to prepare the couch rather than the reclining chair, because deep inside of him, the reclining chair came wrapped with memories, of being with Julia. Usually such memories provided coziness, but not now…

Not surprised by his mind's torture when he tried to sleep, he yielded, and let the thoughts go where they would, too weak to fight against them anymore, for now he had lost … everything. He would have to crawl out of the pit tomorrow, no matter how deep it had become. And he believed it was already too deep to make it out anyway. He gave in to the despair, " _Come what may_ ," he thought, and closed his eyes, and tried to focus on the sounds of the fire crackling and the dancing shadows that drifted over his eyelids.

It was those shadows that shifted and twisted into the figures, first of the pigs, one after the other, their feet bound in the chain, so fast and so slow the hoist lifting them into the air, pulling their muscles to the point of ripping the tendons out of their joints, with a ' _snap._ ' In all his life, he was certain that he would never forget the appeal, the desperation, of their squeals. Then the next one would come, and he would shackle it, again committing the sin. He truly believed he was condemned to Hell now. " _Father Clements_ ," he remembered, with a sputter of hope teasing the darkness.

He awoke from a dream with a startle. His hand jumping to his cheek to determine if it was real. So strange the mixture of emotions as he realized that it was and it wasn't, for her slap had happened, but not now, and she had said she was sorry. Still tingling and shaken from the dream, his mind replayed the likely source of his personalized, but slumbering, traumas, his imaginings of Jurgis' finding of his wife's body, his baby still encased within her flesh, save for a hint of its tiny foot that had breached into the world. She was dead. He had been out drinking away their money, which had not been enough to keep their house in the end, and she had been alone. His beautiful wife had died alone, without him, in pain.

" _Julia's fine_ ," William told himself. " _You are drowning in someone else's story. Stop it!"_ He warned himself. She was upstairs, in their toff-house, warm and safe. Again, too many emotions to handle replaced the sadness and despair, now gripping him in guilt, for his unearned privilege in the face of the suffering of so many others, and remorse for having hurt his _**own**_ wife as well. It was not long before he turned over, somehow changing the track of his thoughts, and once again, fell asleep.

Upstairs, Julia too awoke with the memory of slapping her husband. She tried to forgive herself, acknowledging the level of her anger, of her desperate response to his betrayal. She heard his voice in her head, " _There's another explanation, Julia. It's just that it is hard to explain…"_

She should have heard him out, she knew that now. Every fiber of her being could not accept that he would really do such a thing. Oh, how she worried she would be playing the fool, _but, no, not William, any other man, yes, but not him. It just couldn't be true._ Suddenly, an image, a memory, fluttered into her mind, from years ago, when the evidence that she had killed Darcy had been mounting, and William had asked her about her words that she had last spoken to him about their problems getting Darcy to grant her a divorce. She had said that _she_ would _deal with it_. Now, her husband, William himself, the very same man who had hurt her so badly all those years ago when _he had doubted her_ , now he was downstairs, devastated with the pain of being doubted by the one person in the world he most trusted to believe in him – her.

Over and over again Julia ran through the battle in her head – stay or go, stay or go. Ultimately, she decided to go downstairs and ask him, accepting the fact that her love for him could blind her, warning herself to be vigilant in her observations. But her heart knew – she would believe him, whatever he told her.

She stood in the darkness, for the moon could not shine through the dense clouds in the sky this night. The fire he had built had gone out, the open chimney fluke chilling the room. He slept, or so she thought, on the couch with his back to her. _Perhaps she had best not wake him_. She remembered his weeping, earlier in the shower, and it probably had been so very difficult for him to finally fall asleep at all. And she was sure he so needed sleep. She marveled at her ability to care so much for him. Would it be possible for her to love him still, even if he had been unfaithful? She sighed. " _Perhaps it is best to wait till morning,_ " she thought, " _But he has work_ …" she reminded herself. Still, she turned to go.

She heard the rustling of his body moving on the couch, then his voice, "Julia?"

She cleared her throat and turned back to him. "Yes, it's me. I'm sorry. Go back to sleep."

"Please don't go," he asked, now sitting up, finding her in the dark.

Her anger seemed nowhere to be found. Feigning aggravation she replied, "It was silly of me anyway."

"Please," he said.

She sighed, loudly. She would stay. They both knew it by the sound. William stood up and helped her to sit down on the couch. Eyes adjusted to the darkness now, he could tell she had on only her nightgown. He wrapped the blanket around her shoulders, stood and turned on a lamp and then closed the chimney fluke before returning to sit on the other end of the couch.

Julia sat up taller and said, "Tell me why you had a prophylactic in your pocket."

Oh, William's heart beat quickly now, and he thanked God for she was giving him a chance.

He told her the story, beginning, "George and I got on the wrong train, going to Chicago. We met the man George was telling you about, the one who was researching a book… Sin, Upton Sinclair."

Julia nodded. It seemed he may have started his tale quite aways away from when the prophylactic fits in, but she was willing to be patient. She found the story quite interesting besides.

William continued, "He had known Adomas Baltavesky, and he took us to a "jungle" to find any others who might have known what happened to him. A "jungle" is a place where hobos get together, usually in the summer, so we were lucky in this case."

Julia couldn't help but admire him. William was a good storyteller, it was true, but he had also, once again, done something so rare, so unique – something so few people in the world would ever do. And he did it to find justice and truth, such noble causes. And he had done it despite the risk, and despite the discomforts. And from what she could tell, it had been quite hard. And try as she might, she could do nothing but love him. She shifted her position, moving closer, opening her posture more to his words.

He went on, "There were nearly twenty men there – in an abandoned barn near the tracks…" William paused for a moment organizing his thoughts before he started up again, "One of the men there was an older fellow, named Jack. He approached, uh... me…" William paused in his story, reached up and rubbed his forehead.

Julia knew he'd gotten to an important part, but his new stress in telling it worried her. She wondered, _"What could be so bad that William has trouble saying it… It had to be something related to having sex because of the condom,"_ she thought. Curiosity teased at her, and, just a little, a twinge of worry. _Was he hurt? Would she end up being angry with him anyway?_

William took a deep breath, seeming more to calm himself than to provide air to speak, and he said, "Jack was what Sin told us was a "wolf," a man who was very experienced at surviving on the trains, and he, um … well he took on new hobos – "sheep or lambs," and taught them all he knew… Their relationship would usually be, well …. Um …"

His discomfort strong enough to keep him from taking the chance of catching her eye, William could not tell whether or not she already understood. He would rather not have to explain it…

"Go on," Julia said, sounding puzzled, thus answering his question. She sensed his distress, heard him swallow back his apprehension before he spoke.

Briefly he glanced her eye, quickly darting away again and said, "Jack… told me he had never taken on such an _**old**_ , "lamb," before, but in my case he was willing to make an exception," William explained, going on to add, "He made some joke about me being a, "ram," instead of a, "lamb," and how that might be fun…"

Julia's mind lit up with understanding. Oh, she got it. William was being propositioned. Her heart took on a quicker beat. " _That's why he had a condom?! Did he … Oh my God, did this "Jack" …?!"_ the thoughts barreled through her mind. She felt her eyes wide and wild. Focus, listen, she needed to listen.

"Well, I certainly didn't want to have _ **"fun"**_ with the man, so I was quick to thank him for his generosity but declined his offer. When I got back to Sin and George they poked fun at me, and that's when I knew my suspicions were right," William had gone on to explain.

Finding the situation far from humorous herself, Julia nodded and said, "Yes … but what about the condom?"

She slid closer to William, and he felt it so strongly, his hope and her love. His confidence roused, he took up the story again, "Jack came and sat next to me. Kind of apologized. Sin and him talked, across me. They knew each other. Not much later, some policemen, um, remember we were in the United States, without any identification. Well, some policemen showed up. There was a man in charge. Sin and Jack knew him, called him, "Flannel Bull," they said he was no good. They became concerned for a teenage boy who had been in the jungle that night, they were certain Flannel Bull would want to take the boy – victimize him. He was nowhere to be found inside the barn. And that's when Jack said to Sin, that Flannel Bull would pick me then, and then Jack snuck me a prophylactic… Which I thought was such a strange thing to do … And then he whispered that Flannel Bull would let me use it with the woman first…"

And again he paused, and again he rubbed his forehead, and again Julia's heart leapt in her throat, and he continued, "You know Julia, I had this thought, that I should close my eyes… Pretend to be asleep or drunk, so he wouldn't pick me. Um, I kept thinking about how you always say how beautiful my eyes are, and I thought maybe if he didn't see my eyes, well it would be better… But he was standing in front of us so quickly."

William sighed and went on, "He did pick me. Told me to stand up. Had his men, guns out and ready, surround me. He told me to take off my coat. And then George…" William shook his head trying to push away the memory. "George attacked, trying to help I guess, but they knocked unconscious, left him there on the floor, put a gun to his head. Flannel Bull said he'd just as soon shoot him as not and that I should take off my shirt…"

Julia imagined it, all those men watching, around William, George lifeless on the floor, gun aimed at his head. She knew William, he would do anything he had to do to keep them from killing George.

"I did… um, take off my shirt," William said.

But then a look overcame his face. Julia had never seen anything like it. It was sickening and terrifying, and seemed to plummet her soul downwards so quickly that she lost her ability to breathe with the sight of it. There was rage, and disgust, and an unspeakable deadness, all rolled in together, all on her William's face. And she hurt so badly she could have cried, albeit for the shock.

"He put his hands on me, Julia," William rushed to say, as if it was the only way he would ever get the words out, "And when I resisted they pistol-whipped me on the back of the head. And this, Flannel Bull, walked around me slowly – I swear, I didn't even feel the cold – looking me over from head to toe, inspecting my body, like I was an animal for sale. I was so humiliated. And he said that, " _I would do for now."_ William stopped, took a breath. "They put the cuffs on me and they went to escort me out of the building, the gun still aimed at George," he added.

Julia hadn't noticed before, but he had been fiddling with his wedding ring. His story had so completely entrenched her. Now his eyes searched hers, and yet she felt she could offer nothing more than that she was stunned to know he had gone through such a thing. His willingness to show her his shame – it touched her. William truly trusted her. She figured that subconsciously he used his ring to remind himself of their connection. She wondered if it had helped him, now, to feel less alone – _Had it at the time?_

William went on, "When we reached the barn door, it opened. The teen-aged boy was just standing there, on the other side. And I knew, and he knew, that they would try to take him instead of me… And I was handcuffed and there were five of them, and I yelled for the boy to run, and he did. And I tried, I truly tried, even risking George, but still I fought them."

This time his look wrenched every cell in her body, to see such desperation in his beautiful brown eyes, it broke her heart to the core. William's tone full of guilt and shame, he said, "When I came to later, Sin and Jack told me that they had taken the boy."

She slid closer and took his hand. "To _**let**_ him, you had to have had a choice William – some control over the situation, which you didn't," she said.

William shook his head, disapproving of himself, shocked at his own weakness, and explained, "I was undercover, in a country that wasn't mine. I had no identification, no weapon. I felt so helpless." Again, William reached up and rubbed his forehead. Shame captured him, and he pulled away from her. He stood up and walked to the fireplace, keeping his back to her, his gaze watching only a fire that had gone out.

Silence – in the dim light – and cold, they stayed quiet for a time, waiting for something to say. Finally, William cleared his throat and then released a huge sigh, through pursed lips – it almost sounded like a moan, as if the toxins in his breath burned his soul as they rode over his heart and were shoved out of his body. "I forgot it was there," he said of the condom, bringing her back, them back, to the beginning.

He returned to sit down in front of her on the couch. Softly, cautiously, he reached up and pinched one of her curls in his fingers.

The closeness, the intimacy this gesture of his symbolized in her mind, surprised her, startling her back to remembering why he was telling her the story, reminding her that they had had such a huge argument. Julia's own voice in her head reminded that he needed to be told Isaac had said no more sex of any kind until after the baby had been born. " _Was she really that ready now, to forgive?"_ she asked herself. She released a sigh and reached up to push his hand away as she felt her answer take shape in her mind. _No – Not yet_. She began to try to stand, and chivalrous as her husband was, he rushed to help her despite the fact that he did not want to let her go.

She walked towards the stairs, but he hurried to block her way. "Don't you believe me, Julia?" he asked.

She stepped back and replied, "I do believe you William." Then she stepped around him and continued on.

Again, he rushed to stop her progression, reaching her just as she got to the stairs, being bold enough to take her elbow and stop her. She turned to him and said, "William, I believe that that is how the condom got in your pocket. But …" She paused. His breath rushed over her, fast and strong. They were close enough that, despite being in the darkened foyer, she could tell his chest was heaving. _He still had kept his staying with Ettie a secret from her. She still harbored doubts, about trusting him as she used to, about trusting herself to see the truth._

He realized it then, that they were not in the clear yet. She was unable to trust him. She still doubted his fidelity. _My God_ , it hurt him, the knowledge that she did not know him well enough to know that he had never considered making love to another woman, never would. That for him there truly was no one but her. How could she not know? His heart sank, for he saw it clearly now – he was all alone. He had already lost her, and if he had lost her _for this_ , then he must never have really had her, at least not the way he had thought he did.

He noticed the burning in the back of his eyes as tears began to swell, and there was a lump growing in his throat. He had to fight it back. He began to work to stop himself from crying. Even so, the words lined up in his mind, to ask her, the tip of his tongue pressed against the roof of his mouth behind his front teeth, ready to make the "D" sound of, " _Don't you love me anymore, Julia?"_ He pictured falling to his knees in front of her to ask it. He stuttered it, "D… Don't…" His head shaking, as if he could make it not be so if he willed it hard enough, his whole body shaking, but before he could ask, she said…

"William, don't look so forlorn. I… I need some more time… to sort out my feelings. But, I'm sure we will work this out – just not right now," she said, her compassion washing over him and calming his panic. She reached up and cupped his cheek, the one she had slapped earlier, and they each remembered the pain. Unable to see it, as they stood together at the foot of the stairs in the dim light, he did not know that she fought back tears as well. She whispered to him in the darkness, leaning closer, her breath glancing his ear, "Don't give up hope, William," and then she walked up the stairs, without him.

He clung to her words, their meaning embracing so many of the things that he had been fighting desperately, seemingly for an eternity out in the jungle, to hold onto. His heart knew – her words would be enough. Hope was there, firmer, denser than the despair, thus sinking below it, providing a limit to how far into despair he could fall. _Maybe he hadn't – lost that ONE thing._


	16. Chapter 16: Finally Home in the Jungle T

Chapter 15_Finally at Home in the Jungle

"Argh!" William screamed out as he awoke from another dream, still alone on the couch. Its torturous memory lingered in his mind, tempting him back. Despite the chill in the room, he was drenched in sweat. He remembered that the dream took place in a real place – a place where he had been, at Durham's Meat-Packing Company in Chicago. There he had seen it in full action. Winding around and up the outside of the four-story building, there was a wide, wooden- ramp, a long series of steps with a wooden fence as a railing on the outside of it. Three or four hogs could fit across it because it was so wide. Down at the bottom was the final pen, where the hogs would be congregated after they were removed from the train.

First thing in the morning, it would start. The workers would open the gate to the ramp and start whooping and hollering, herding the hogs forward. The crowd would begin their final journey up the ramp, packed in like sardines in a can. All would take this final trek, young and old, sick and healthy, pregnant, lame, strong, and injured alike. Up at the very top the ramp narrowed, only enough room for one hog right in front of the door up in the sky. Now William knew first-hand what waited for the hog on the other side of the door, having been the worker to do it at Armour's establishment. He remembered the nightmare…

 **Himself, Julia, George – the three of them, along with all of the rest of humanity, marched agonously forward, uphill, uphill, uphill. Never a break, never a breeze, never any relief. The slope of the stairways never lessened, never offered the thrill, the joy, of a decline. All faces were dull, devoid of hope, too weak to show their pain. They climbed forward – they climbed up. George said, with as much optimism as he could muster, "I'm sure it will start to go downhill soon, sir." William tried with all his might to agree, but he failed. Then he noticed it… Julia was gone! She must have lagged behind. He tried to stop – to turn back to see her, to find her, but the masses and masses of people behind them trudged on, bumping into him, throwing him off balance, threatening to knock him to the ground, where he knew, for he had seen it, that people died from being trampled.**

" **Julia! Julia!" he cried out frantically. But no answer came. She was gone. "** _ **Perhaps she had moved ahead of them**_ **," his thought offered enthusiastically. He stretched his neck up, straining it to its limits, to search for her up ahead, all the while moving along with the crowd. "** _ **That's odd**_ **?" he thought with the sight. Up ahead, there seemed to be an end. It was not endless! But then, his hope evaporated, and panic seized his heart, for he realized what it meant. Death! Certain death! They would fall off a cliff! Or they would be chained to a giant wheel to hoist them up to be slaughtered like the pigs! Or they would be prodded into a trap, and smashed between the eyes with a sledge-hammer, to be knocked to the ground and then to have their throats slashed like the cattle. There was no way out! And he had lost Julia. He would die having lost her. Perhaps she was already dead! … having fallen and been trampled, alone and slowly bleeding to death under the stomps and heels of the endless, endless procession forward over her body – her beautiful, beautiful body. And then he remembered their baby, and he buckled at the knees, only the inertia of the crowd pushing forward, stopping his fall. Their baby would never be! He collapsed to sobbing… he gave up. His muscles softened with the acceptance…**

" **William!" the beacon of her voice broke through the smog. "William!" her voice called, jolting life back into him from the center of his bones out to tingle his skin.**

" **Julia!" he screamed with all his might, jerking his body in his sleep. He listened – more intently than he had ever listened before, clinging not only to life, but to his salvation from despair in his death.**

" **William! Get to the edge!" her voice guided. He moved sideways, in the direction of her voice, the momentum of the masses angling his line, all the while bringing him closer to the predetermined end. He suddenly saw it for what it was – they were on a livestock series of stairways up the side of the slaughterhouse building, climbing up to their deaths. He saw the railing! He could make it, but only if he flung himself over the rail, before the stairs ended. It was a choice he had – And that is the point, he had some control over his destiny after all. He could allow the unfolding of the dreadful plan leading him up the stairs, or he could give up and be trampled – or he could throw himself over the railing. Only one choice could bring him to her – thus, there was really only one choice for him. He dove for the railing, grasped it with all of his might as the people behind him added to the push and he felt gravity shift, and for the first time for oh so long, he was going down instead of up.**

 **Now he dangled, so very, very high above the ground, by one arm. A strange silence enveloped him even though the wind threatened his ability to hold on. His legs swam franticly, searching for a ledge, a board, something to touch, to ground him, to help take some of the load. "** _ **Don't give up hope!**_ **" Julia's voice whispered, somehow slowing the wind that flapped him as it confronted the gales head-on. He took a deep breath, the newfound hope growing inside of him.**

 **But then – Flannel Bull's face grinned from atop the roof of the building. He aimed his gun at his bluing fingers grasping the rail… William had not** _ **surrendered**_ **as he had wanted him to, and so now he would die. Flannel Bull fired.** _ **"Defying the laws of physics,"**_ **– strange that William had time to think about that – William felt the pain before he heard the shot. And he started to fall. "Argh!" he cried out…**

Quickly, William focused on connecting to his surroundings. He was on the couch… He remembered with a sinking heart that he and Julia had had an awful argument, and then he remembered that she had come down in the middle of the night… And he felt the warm throb of optimism again. The light coming through the window suggested dawn. As his heart finally slowed sufficiently to beat at a normal pace, he remembered it was Tuesday, and he had to go to work, and the case had fallen apart, himself, and George and Jackson, and now Julia too, all having gone through this hell, this jungle, for nothing in the end.

William went into the downstairs half-bath to prepare for the day. He emerged clean-shaven and ready to head upstairs to try to quietly dress and go to work. He felt trepidation, unsure whether he hoped Julia would be awake or not.

He remembered the instant he heard the key in the door, that Eloise came on weekdays to cook breakfast for them. The front door opened, the cold air blasting across his sweat-dampened pajamas, and then their eyes met. A large smile flashed on the pudgy, older woman's face, reminding William how much she truly seemed to have come to care for him, only to quickly fade away as she figured out why he was where he was. She remembered that Dr. Ogden had left the bedding out for him, although she had hoped they would have worked out whatever troubles had driven her do so.

"Detective," she greeted, trying not to sound surprised.

William glanced into the living-room at the couch covered with his blanket and his pillow. He felt a sense of shame seeping down into his gut. It caused him to stutter slightly, "El -Eloise!?" he said, "I, uh … I…"

Sensing his discomfort, she hurried to say, "Do not worry detective, I will clean up in here. You go ahead and get ready for work."

He nodded, thanking her, and then turned and started up the stairs.

"I'll have a hot breakfast ready and waiting when you come back down," she called out after him, hoping to brighten things for him, trying in any way she could to help.

Julia did not stir as he dressed. After he left their bedroom, she decided to wait till she heard him leave the house before she went downstairs. She felt conflicted, wanting to forgive him and relieve all this suffering, but still knowing things were not yet resolved. Her sighing as she dressed reinforced her concerns that they still had much to work out. It seemed that her biggest struggle was with herself, for she knew as a psychiatrist that once one starts to doubt their own abilities to see the facts before them, to see reality as _**it is**_ instead of how they _**wished it was**_ , then it is very difficult to regain a sense of self-trust. William's keeping his plans to stay with his old lover in Winnipeg had severely shaken hers. She had truly never seen it coming.

Soon after Julia had finished her breakfast a delivery came. Feeling like a schoolgirl struck with glee, she tipped the delivery boy, and hurried to read the card tucked into the bouquet of yellow roses. The note consisted of only one word, "Lunch?" She did not feel disappointed. She called the stationhouse and spoke briefly with William, setting up their meeting, here at the house at noon. Flowers clutched in her arms, Julia found Eloise cleaning the kitchen and asked her if she would mind doing her shopping around noon today. Eloise's smile betrayed her clear understanding of the situation. She quickly agreed and asked if she should prepare something special for their lunch. She had already made some pea soup, and Julia asked her to also make some peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.

) (

When William arrived, he opened the front door, hung up his coat and scarf, once again noticing that his hat was gone, and finding no one in the living-room, went to the kitchen. There he discovered that the yellow roses he had sent, the same color they had chosen for their wedding, had been placed in a vase and graced the kitchen table. There was a pot of something steaming on the stove. And then, such a wonderful feeling of comfort and relief and excitement and hope filled him, as he took note of the picnic basket on the table, for he knew what the choice symbolized for both of them. He heard Julia on the stairs, the sound of her approach still managing to surge apprehension through his veins. There was so very much at stake.

The couple engaged in small talk at first – mostly about the food. They shared a joke about their favorite " _gourmet_ " meal – peanut butter and jelly sandwiches – and then another about having a picnic in December. William explained that, "The term " _pea soup_ " is used by hobos to refer to lumberjacks, and ironically, the term " _lumberjack_ " is used to signify that a hobo comes from Canada."

"An actual lumberjack then, _pea soup_? Like you used to be," Julia acknowledged.

"Mm-hmm," he replied. "It makes sense, we did eat it often."

She noticed he had nearly finished his bowl of soup. " _Since he's gotten back his appetite has been humungous,_ " she thought. Her mind flashed an image of William in, "the jungle," surrounded by other hobos, before the police showed up and caused such devastation and anguish in her husband. The imagined memory caused her to nearly shudder. " _What other horrors did he see?_ " she wondered.

William seemed to be enjoying his memories of being a lumberjack in his younger days, explaining, "I remember how delicious the soup always tasted after a hard day's work up in the trees. The cook made excellent bread too…"

Picturing him up in a tree, Julia was reminded of the time William had climbed up a pole to try to save a man held hostage at the top of it who was attached to a noise-sensitive bomb. The bomb had exploded when a car backfired, and once again, William had almost been killed. She interrupted, "I had forgotten about the time you used your lumberjacking skills to try to save the man trapped at the top of a pole with a bomb."

"Mm," he nodded, now enthusiastically devouring his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

"I will have to put it on the list … of all the times you have almost been killed. A quite long list, I might add," she said.

William stopped chewing. This was a touchy subject between them. He was tempted to apologize. His most recent injury from a life-threatening situation, his meat-hook wound, tweaked in his shoulder.

Julia considered asking him if he had had such close calls while he was away this time, but decided against it. She asked him if he wanted more soup.

Relieved by the change of subject, William nearly jumped out of his seat. "Yes. But I'll get it," he said.

After he had returned to his seat, the conversation had lulled and eventually Julia asked, "Shall we get to it then?"

William took a deep breath. "What do you want to know?" he asked, putting down his sandwich.

Images of what she most feared flashed through her mind – William and Ettie Weston kissing… Then the two of them lying together naked in her elaborate, gauche Madam's bed… She imagined William's back and buttocks, peeked out from under the blankets, and Ettie's strained face next to his beautiful black hair, her breath flowing into his ear, as he pumped into her again and again, making love to her. _My God, it hurt_.

She wanted to make it clear between them that she expected his utmost honesty, though she believed she knew him well enough to know that that was what he would give her anyway. "I expect the complete truth," she said, receiving his nod, "There will be nothing relevant left out?" He agreed again with another nod. Julia took a deep breath and began, "Did you stay with her in her room, William?" she asked.

Worry slipped onto his face. She already knew the answer. It sickened her, but she would _**not**_ make it easier on him. She waited for his answer.

He needed to clear his throat, and his head already spun so with panic. He nodded and said, "Yes, but you have to understand. Every room she had was occupied by one of the women." His eyes pleaded with her. He swallowed, improving the steadiness of his voice and added, "And I slept on the floor."

The words hit the air before Julia consciously decided to ask him, "Did you have… Did you make love to her, William?"

His eyes never wavered, holding firmly to hers. "No, Julia," he immediately answered. Shaking his head he said, "I was not unfaithful to you. I will never be unfaithful to you. I promise… She kissed me, and … that is the full extent of it."

She felt a surge of happiness, for she discovered that she wholeheartedly believed him. Her look must have shown her thoughts, for William finally took a deep breath. Relief pumped through him, and Julia tightened her lips together and nodded to him, ensuring that he had it right – she believed him.

Julia took a sip of water. She was not done. She placed the glass back down on the table and asked, "You do find her attractive though?"

To William this seemed like an odd question, for Julia knew he found Ettie Weston to be attractive. He had told her about their previous relationship – and that it had been sexual in nature. Confusion clouded his mind for a moment, but he was sure to answer her quickly. "Yes," he responded.

Suddenly, Julia realized that the question she was about to ask was actually the biggest question of all. It was more important than whether or not he had been unfaithful to her. It was only now that she completely realized what had frightened her so much about him keeping his rendezvous with Ettie Weston a secret from her. The soaring of her emotions raced her heart. She was afraid to ask – she was so very, very frightened of his answer, for once it was asked, she _**would**_ know the answer. There would be no turning back. She mustered her courage, and William seemed to brace himself as she breathed in the air she would need to speak. "Do you love her, William?" she asked.

She saw relief sweep across his face and he immediately answered, "No…" And she felt the urge to cry, having had been so very worried that he had loved another. "No Julia. I have told you that I knew from the moment I met you that you were the one for me – the _**ONLY**_ one for me, Julia. I love you, and only you, with every fiber of my being. I always will," he explained.

Tears flowed down her cheeks as she nodded and said, "Good," firmly. Then she smiled and he smiled in return. He took her hand and gave it a kiss. Then he reached up and slid his fingers into her hair and wiped away a tear with his thumb.

In the interest of being completely honest, William decided he needed to tell her how he did feel about Ettie, for he had feelings for her, even if they weren't exactly love. He pulled his hand out of Julia's curls and placed it with his other, taking her hand in his hands. He ducked down and took a firm hold of her eyes. "I care about her though, Julia," he said.

Of course he cared for her. He had investigated the murder of her dearest friend, saved Ettie's life at the hands of a deranged killer, knowing William, likely encountering life-threatening violence to himself in the process. They had been lovers – the woman had taught him about what they now playfully called "Plan C." He knew her well, and yes, it made perfect sense that he would care for her. " _I can live with that_ ," she thought, giving him a nod.

She sniffled, and he dug a handkerchief out of his pocket for her. She wiped her nose and her face, and then took a deep breath. She lifted an eyebrow at him and asked, "Is there anything else I should know? Perhaps one of the other women there? We agreed, the total truth – nothing omitted…"

William paused, running things through his mind while Julia waited. Once again, he took a deep breath. There was something else. Now it was Julia who braced herself, although she was sure that nothing he said could be as important as what he had already told her – that he loved her and only her in all the world.

She felt his fingers sliding back and forth over her wedding rings as he said, "I guess you should know that Ettie told me that _she_ loved me. She was heartbroken when she learned that we had married. She said she did not believe she would ever love someone else. She cried, and I did feel very saddened by her state. But still…" William's chocolaty eyes firmly declared his oath to his wife, "I made it clear to her that a love between she and I would _never_ be. I told her how profoundly and absolutely I loved you Julia – and that you loved me the same way." William wrinkled a corner of his mouth. He had confessed it. She knew everything there was to tell now.

He seemed to hold his breath, waiting. Before she knew what had happened, he dropped down onto his knees in front of her. "Is that enough Julia?" he asked, "Do you still love me? Will you take me back?"

"Oh William," Julia answered, cupping his cheeks, then sliding her fingers into his black hair, "I never wanted you to leave. You never lost me. You never will. And I will never leave you. And I will never push you out of my life. No matter what you do. I am yours forever. And I believed you felt the same way about me…"

William had become choked up, and with tears glistening in his eyes, he said, "I do," nodding his head. However, he sensed something was still wrong, that there seemed to be a, "but," coming. He swallowed and prepared.

Julia frowned, confirming his suspicions. "But," she started to explain, "Well, now I know that you have someone out there who loves you. And you care about her too, and are sexually attracted to her…" Julia looked away. As she tried to find the words to use, her awareness of what concerned her sank in, and with it came a sadness. "William, it is like you have a relationship to fall back on … in case something ever goes wrong between us. If the going gets too tough, or if I make a mistake that you can't live with, or you get bored with me some day, then you have someone to go to."

William got up from his knees and sat in his chair. It all seemed to be slipping away again. He reached up and rubbed his forehead. How could he convince her that it did not matter – that it was a fall back that he would never use? Then he had an idea – a way to help her see. His eyes bright, he leaned forward towards her and said, "Ettie and I are like you and Darcy…" Julia looked confused. "Well, if Darcy were still alive, I mean," he explained, tilting his head to the side quickly. William shook his head, he knew he was not making sense. He took a deep breath and looked to Julia. She was waiting.

He started again, "Imagine that Darcy had not been killed… And that he had granted you the divorce, even though he still loved you – as he had told you he did, and you and I had married." Julia nodded, she was willing to go along. "Well, wouldn't it be true that you would still care for Darcy?" Julia nodded in agreement. "And that you would still find him sexually attractive… I mean you did once, isn't it likely that you still would?" he asked.

Julia was more reluctant to agree to this, for after having married Darcy she had found their love-life to be quite lacking. Further, even though she was willing to grant it for his experiment, she had never found Darcy as attractive as she ever found William to be, no one else on Earth for that matter.

"Nothing like the attraction I feel for you though, William," she said, making sure he knew.

William paused, reveling briefly in her statement, and then stated, "That is the same as how I feel about Ettie as compared to you," giving her a gallant bow. Julia smiled.

William then concluded his argument, "So, would you not still love me with ALL of your heart and soul, and wouldn't you stick out all of the hard times, as we have each vowed to do, even if you still cared for Darcy and found him to be sexually attractive, and you knew he still loved you?" He saw hesitation in her eyes and quickly added, "And wouldn't we have had to make do with the fact that, for you, he would have been a, "fall back" as you say, that you could have used your relationship with him as a place to turn if you were unhappy or unsatisfied with me?"

She wanted to reassure him that she believed that it was possible for one to love someone as they each loved each other – so very profoundly as they did, and yet still feel the things he had described for others. That it did not have to represent a threat to them…

But, Julia struggled, for she knew something was still wrong. She needed to figure out why she remained unsure. It felt like something was off _between herself and William_ more so than the problem being something _outside_ of their relationship, like Ettie being someone he would turn to if they had problems. The feelings of hurt still flowed inside of her. It was as if she still did not feel she could trust him. _"Why?_ " she asked herself. With all of her focus, she looked inward, searching for the answer.

" _ **He kept it a secret!**_ " the answer came. That was what was wrong!

William had been watching her go through the process, worried. He saw the shift in her.

She looked directly into his eyes. He knew it – she had the answer. She knew what was really wrong.

"But William," she said, "It is ultimately a question of trust." William braced once more, coaching himself to listen carefully and to be honest.

She would use his analogy to help make her point. "Now imagine, William, that everything you proposed about Darcy was true, and then add to that that I went out of town, let's say to speak at a Conference…" William nodded. He was with her so far. She continued, "And you found out that I actually stayed with Darcy instead of staying at a hotel, and that I did not tell you I had planned to do so all along. How would that make you feel?"

She knew her husband. She would have to wait now. But, oh, she saw it on his face right away. He had felt the punch of it. "What is it you are feeling William?" she asked him.

William's eyes widened with insight as his hand slid up to cover his stomach as if tending to a wound. He nearly whispered it, "Betrayed." His eyes instantly began to well-up with tears.

Julia nodded. He understood now. "You see, it is not the feelings you have for Ettie as much as it is that you kept your intentions to see her from me. Do you understand?" she asked.

His world had been shaken, and he was quite dazed, but he managed to nod to her. He was completely aware of what it was he was feeling – blends of emotions, mixing and spinning in the cauldron of his gut – Remorse, such powerful remorse, for his actions had betrayed her, and guilt for he had kept a dirty little secret, it was true. And with his awareness of the importance of what he had done, he also felt fear and dread for he had snuck around behind her back, he had intentionally kept his visiting Ettie a secret from her – even if it had been with the good intentions of protecting Julia from being unnecessarily upset, and she had found out, and it had hurt her. The feelings threatened to spiral into hopelessness. He and Julia would never be the same again. _He had ruined it! He had destroyed the one thing in his life that he held most dear, his relationship with Julia. He had betrayed her trust!_ He panicked! He didn't know how to fix it!

The pain of watching him fall into despair stabbed at Julia's heart so. She needed to reach down into the abysmal drop he was falling through, and save him, pull him out now. She moved her chair as close as possible to his, inching it past the edge of the corner of the table, placing herself directly in front of him, and took his head in her hands and locked her powerful blue eyes to his beautiful brown ones. She noticed his eyes flickered, stuttered, as if he were spinning and he was trying to find a point upon which to steady his gaze with each turn. Like North on a compass, he held to her with all his might, his guiding star.

"William," she beckoned, "I feel it now – your empathy. I know you know how I felt when I answered that phone call from Ettie… to learn that you had planned to stay with her and not told me about it. That you had always planned on going to her. It is because you feel my pain, in your bones, in your heart, because I am absolutely positive that you _know_ that keeping such a thing secret from me has hurt me, and would hurt me, terribly, if you ever did it again…

William nodded, almost frantically.

Julia continued, "It is because I know you know, and I know you would do anything _**not**_ to hurt me so ever again. It is because you FEEL these things now, that I _**can**_ trust you… That I _**do**_ trust you, William." Julia wiped a tear from his cheek and asked, just as she tasted one of her own, "Don't you see?" and then she sniffled and she smiled.

He nodded and slid forward in his chair, and leaning into her he threw his arms around her and hugged her tight. He buried his face in her neck _**and he wept**_ – as he had so wanted to weep for days and days but had not felt safe enough to do so, because the horrible truth about the world had been revealed to him while working on this case, and the awareness of it had caused him inconsolable pain. Such pain he had never felt before, and it was everywhere, he knew that now. Nowhere was safe from the injustice of it. _**And then he had lost her too!**_ And the whole of it had been more than he could bear. And now, the relief of knowing she was his and he was hers – that they would be alright, that he was finally _**home**_ , it crushed his resolve, and he could not control it anymore, and he allowed himself to collapse, and he sobbed there in her arms.

Julia held him, and stroked him, and kissed him, whispered it would be alright in his ear, and rocked him. In all of her days she had never felt such sorrow, so strangely outside of her own experience and yet encompassing her in it. She knew these emotions went beyond William and herself. The sounds her husband made as he sobbed into her shoulder pulled her along as well, tugging at her soul. As she sat rocking him, she herself wept, although she did not know why. As the torrents seemed to weaken, and the waves spread out, she took a deep breath, calming herself, trying to stop the spinning out of control of their world. She felt the ground under her feet. Her mind cleared and she thought, " _What happened to him on this trip?_ " She knew her husband; he had a tender and a kind heart - one that would suffer, as it beat inside his chest, with the awareness of the suffering of others. She believed it was such a compassionate heart that made him such a fierce warrior – a champion for the weak. Ultimately, it was this very thing that she loved the most about him. But it had its costs, she knew such care could take quite a toll.

She had to bring him back now, to join her in the reality of _**both**_ good and evil, to rescue him, to steal him away from the trap he was in – the one in which only the enormous evil in the world could be seen, and it would devour the soul if not for the awareness that such evil was matched in the world by the existence of enormous good. But first, she had to stop his crying.

She kissed his ear once more, and said, her voice warm, compassionate, but firm, "Take a deep breath William." She pushed him away slightly, knowing he would need air. His face, still wrinkled in pain, was red with the effort of crying so hard. "Come on," she urged. He kept his eyes down, away from hers, but he tried, feeling the sting of it in his lungs as he sucked the oxygen in. "There," she reassured, "Again." He did, this breath deeper. The tears began to subside. "Do you feel the chair underneath you?" she asked, dipping her head to find his eyes. He nodded, and he looked at her. " _Embarrassed?… Grateful?... Perhaps both?_ " she thought, as she modeled another deep breath, feeling relieved when he joined her in it.

"Sorry," he said. Then he sat back in his chair, now much more in control.

She would ignore his comment. She took a deep breath, suggesting a change of subject and teased him, "So, William, have you learned from this that in the end it hopeless to try to keep a secret from me?" she crossed her arms in front of her chest, tapped her toe on the floor and asked, "Remember your little secret escapade in the flight suit and climbing down into a rocket barrel to disarm a rocket aimed at New York City? My husband the secret hero…"

He agreed, nodding his head, giving a little chuckle.

"William?" drawing his eyes back to hers, "George said some things about this trip you two went on…"

William nodded. Julia reached out and cupped his cheek. Her thumb softly rubbed across his cheekbone, then slid down over his lips, and she said, "It was very … dark."

William swallowed, managing to push down some of the pain he was feeling and nodded. "Yes," seemed to be all he could muster as an answer. He hoped it would be enough. The time would come when he would tell her about it – he was certain. But he was not ready now. He wrinkled up a corner of his mouth with the apology for being unable to share more, and with the acknowledgement that she had it right.

Julia held his face and said, "William, listen to me. You have the loveliest heart I have ever known." She slid a hand down to cover his heart and explained further, "It is so big and it feels the suffering of others so very deeply, and I think William, it is what makes you so courageous, for you are urgently called to protect those that you know so deeply are being hurt. And I love you so much for it." She put her hands together over his heart and looked deeply into his eyes. "It has been hurt William," Julia said. She shook her head and added, "I don't know what happened to you, what you saw, maybe even what you did, but I know it hurt you."

He nodded, never losing contact with her eyes.

"Now your heart needs care. It needs some time and some love and some care, so it can heal," Julia said.

William swallowed and let her words bathe him. She could do it; she was the only one who could do it. And she would. She took his hand and stood (well, with his help, she was eight months pregnant) and led him out of the kitchen towards the stairs.

"Julia, I have to get back to work," he warned, pulling against her hand, slowing her motion as they began to go up.

"It'll be quick," she answered, continuing their climb. She had been taking him upstairs to see the new baby furniture, figuring it would help him see the magic of the world first hand, but his concern now, about getting back to work, kindled and erupted lust in her core. " _He thinks I'm taking him upstairs to make love!_ " and her mind jumped ahead to imagine them doing so. The hungry, sultry picture of him naked on top of her, heavy and hard against her supple, marshmallowy curves, rhythmically surging, shoving her closer and closer to the edges of ecstasy. Lustful dizziness took her brain, her womb knotting and twisting into excruciating desire for him.

Suddenly he had pinned her against the wall on the landing of the halfway point of the stairs – the first spot that would be just out of view from the front door, where Eloise could walk in at any moment. Gone, were the thoughts and feelings from last night when he had nearly fallen off of the Earth at the foot of these very stairs thinking she didn't love him anymore. His kiss was demanding, rough, ravenous. This was going to be a cold front – and she was completely thunderstruck. It was going to be devastating, delicious… and dangerous.

Julia found the top button on his trousers. _MY God, she wanted him!_ "Closer William," she whispered, her voice raspy with need.

"I will never be close enough to you," he asserted between stormy kisses, "Never," and he kissed her ruggedly, primally, again. Like hot metal gravitized by a magnet, she lured, she tugged, she grabbed, and pulled, and sucked him in.

"Closer William, Please," her voice helpless with wanting him, her womb coiling and drenching for him, she pleaded.

However, there was something. It dangled in the background, calling through the thick mist of her spinning thoughts. Just a word at first, a word that had no meaning, just sounds, " _Is-aac."_ Such a sense of urgency, importance hung with it… " _Isaac._ "

Her knees buckled and her breath caught – devastating, just devastating, as he lifted her skirt.

" _Isaac,_ " it niggled again.

"I want you. My God I love you," his beautiful voice surged, hot, humid, into her ear. His fingers at the top of her bloomers now… Wildness called. He had to move her, to be so much closer to her, faster and faster it rushed his brain, surged and electrified every inch of his body as it reached for her. Vigorously, insistently, forcing himself to go slower, ever so enticingly, those bloomers slid downward, kissing her skin with the cool air.

Julia's voice, but it felt as if someone else did it, as if it were someone else who said it… "We can't," she said, faintly. Somewhere in her mind, she had been thinking they would have to use Plan C – that they couldn't do what they each so crucially, madly, longed for… But as soon as her words weakly glanced the air, fluttering it, then she remembered. They couldn't do it AT ALL. She hadn't told him yet; Isaac had said, _no_ sex – none.

"Yes, I know. Plan C," he whispered, accepting the best they could get, his body sinking lower, going down onto his knees, his hands firm and rigid on her pliable flesh, holding her skirt up against her hips, locking them into place.

She mustered her strength, held him up, stopped his drop. "No William. No," she said, feeling him yield to her request to stop, "We can't." She felt him step back, studying her face with such intensity.

Julia dropped her head back against the wall with a slight thump, her heaving breasts swelling up and down as she tried to recover her breath, worked to slow the swirling. Breathy, her voice offered, finally explaining it to him, "Isaac said none – no… lovemaking of any kind, William. We can't."

 _Oh, my God, how she wanted to!_

"Oh," he said, accepting it, pulling her bloomers back up, he released her skirt letting it cascade back down to cloak her malleable, succulent, flesh. He fell in against her and with a soft thud, lay his forehead against the wall next to her ear.

Placing her hand over her pounding heart, its thumping reminding her, powerfully, mightily, that she was alive, she was mortal – and that the force of her love for this man threatened her very ability to survive at times. She swallowed, wanting to be able to speak, sensing she still would not be able to.

"William," she tried. He lifted his head to look at her, and she gazed up into his warm, brown, darkened and mesmerizing eyes. " _My God he is gorgeous,_ " she thought to herself, feeling her womb wrench with waves of wanting him once more. "I can't… it's not good for the baby. But," her fingers slid into his opened trousers, jolting him to alert, sparking his eyes so that she lost her breath in a flurry. His eyes closed as he absorbed the shock, passion seizing him.

 _Oh, he wished he had not pictured it, but he had._ She was against the wall, sliding down onto her knees before him, pleasuring him. In his imaginings, he had given in to the urge, the uncontrollable yearning to let go. These conjurings weakened him so, he heard his collapsed moan, she heard it too, being summoned by it, as it escaped and danced, enticingly, smoky in the air.

In response to the weakness of the sound, he grabbed for self-control, leaned in against her, locked her in place, stopped her falling, refused his pleasure. "Not without you," he found her ear, "Not without you." He swallowed, and marveled in the thundering of her heart against his chest. And he knew it, felt in his essence, he loved this woman with all his might.

They remained entwined there together against the stairway-landing wall for a time. Disappointment mingled with the joy that flowed between them. As they should be, one – home.

Eventually the room was level and still. Their breathing, their racing hearts, slowed to normal, the flame gradually burning lower and lower, deprived of its craved for oxygen, and he stepped back. She reached up, caressed his face.

"It had been my intention, husband," she said explaining, "to take you up to see the baby's room."

"That sounds lovely," he replied. He offered her his arm and they headed up the stairs.

"Did you tell Isaac about your dreams, uh… the ones that are so, um… realistic?" he asked.

"Those can't be help…" she started to say, halting her words midsentence. Abruptly, those odd dreams she had had teased her curiosity, the ones from while William was away, about Mulligan's blood-soaked dog escaping from his car and traipsing about in Julia's dreams suddenly appearing out of nowhere. Julia halted, having just made it to the top of the stairs. Her eyes seized his. She remembered, _she had had to tell him, couldn't find him, so desperate to find him, to tell him… What was it exactly?_

Her stunned expression tugged at him. "What is it, Julia?" he demanded.

"I dreamt," she said, her voice wandering and far off, "It was so important that I tell you…"

"What?" he hurried, urged.

Again, their eyes met, him noticing the blue depths, encircled within a darkened rim, her magnificent blue eyes rendered as striking, the outer boundary emphasizing their beauty, her pupils so big, luring him in, igniting a spark deep within his core.

Julia shook her head, "Crazy, crazy dreams. They made no sense."

"Tell me," he insisted.

"But I think they're about your case," she took a deep breath. "Mulligan… he had this big, hairy dog…"

William lifted an eyebrow at her. " _Did Mulligan have a dog in real life?_ " William's mind started to work on her dream's meaning as he questioned her.

Deciding to continue on into the baby's room, he took her offered elbow. "It was so strange William… that I would dream of the manager of Davies Slaughterhouse, that's why I think it's about your case. Mulligan's dog… Well, you know how people can have _**house**_ -pets?"

"Mm-hmm," William said.

"Well this dog of Mulligan's – it was a sort of _**car**_ -pet. It lived all the time in his fancy automobile. But it kept getting out and…" Julia tried to explain.

There was a bump – a jolt, in William's mind. He turned his head to the side, searching for it, looking, hunting. There was something there…

Now in the doorway of the baby's room, Julia had gone on, not noticing his deep internal inquiry, "In my dreams it would constantly escape out of Mulligan's car and trot into the strangest places, covered in blood. In one dream, you and I were… it was one of those _delicious dreams_ … that aren't good for the baby…" she turned to give him an alluring look, "We were in the cells at the stationhouse, but the bars were painted whi…"

Upon looking at her husband, she instantly recognizing the expression on his face, his head tilted to the side, his eyes somehow unfocused, far off, but, with such concentration. He was figuring something out – about the case. She waited.

William turned to meet her eyes, his face excited, outright jubilant. "You dreamed that _Mulligan_ had a _bloody car-pet_?! Julia, that's our best evidence in the case – _**the bloody carpet**_ George found at the dump! The one that matched the green fibers in Ieva's nose and mouth, the one she died on, and bled on, the one Mulligan admitted was his…"

His excitement contagious, Julia nearly yelled, "Tell me everything you know about this carpet William."

William's intense look surged her brain as he said, "The green rug was in Mulligan's office when he stabbed Ieva with his letter-opener. George stole the letter-opener, which we know matched her wound – thanks to your Jello-mold – but the Judge ruled that we couldn't use it as evidence against Mulligan…"

Julia nodded, interrupting, "Yes, because George stole it. That's why he got suspended."

William nodded, rushing on, "George saw the carpet being taken out of a trash can at Davies Slaughterhouse and then being taken in a refuse-wagon to the dump. The rusty-brown stains on it turned out to be _human_ blood. The fibers from it matched those in the victim's nose and mouth… Ieva Baltavesky had died on _that_ rug in Mulligan's office, I'm sure of it," William insisted. "But the evidence was too circumstantial, especially with Mulligan claiming that it doesn't prove anything because the human blood on his rug was from a man who cut his finger off – and because there are lots of green rugs that could match those fibers…"

She halted him abruptly, grasping his arm. "William," she exclaimed, "That's it!" A mischievous smile slipped onto her face as she paused. "Oh, you are going to be so glad you married me, detective!" she exclaimed, giving him a good-hearted shove in his chest. Julia took his hand and asked, leading him back down the stairs, "Detective, would you be willing to give some of your _manly_ blood – in the name of science?"

He nodded, "Of course," he replied excitedly as she hurriedly dragged him down into her lab, "All in the name of science."

) (

Thus it was in the end that this couple reconnected by making love that day after all, but not in the _carnal_ sense – no for these two there was more than one way to make love. For them, _their intellectual attraction could explode into fireworks as well_. Intense pleasure flowed generously between them, through them, around them and over them, whenever together they were breaking through boundaries, discovering wonderful and novel things about the world, and using those discoveries to contribute to a more fair distribution of justice in that same world. Expert and passionate warriors, fighting together. Yes, truly, they had always made a good team.

Working together downstairs in the lab-room that William had made for her, they discovered a whole new forensic method of identifying an individual from a blood sample, eliminating half of the world's population each time it was used – they were identifying gender from a cell. When looking though the microscope it was clear, William's blood, _**his**_ white-blood cell in the metaphase stage of mitosis, had _less_ chromal units than _**hers**_. His was _not_ an XX, but Julia's was! _They could tell whether the blood on Mulligan's carpet came from a man or a woman! Thus, they could prove that the blood on Mulligan's carpet was from Ieva, and not from the man who had cut his finger off! They had him! They had Mulligan for killing Ieva Baltavesky!_

After a phone call from their home determined that Miss James had made abundant samples of the blood from the green rug, they recruited her help, and the three of them, Julia, William, and Miss James, peered through three different microscopes rushing to find white blood cells from the carpet that were in the metaphase stage of division. Ultimately, they found four different usable cells, and all had the same chromal arrangement – symmetrical, even-numbered rather than odd – all of the cells from Mulligan's rug were XX. The blood on Mulligan's carpet was undeniably female.

The celebration was electrifying, big smiles, triumphant hugs, sparkling eyes abound. William did end up telling Julia that he, "… had always known there was a good reason _he_ had married _her_ ," just as she had predicted he would, and when doing so he receiving her feigned insult, with a playful smack in the shoulder.

"Ouch," he had declared, reaching up to nurse and rub the meat-hook wound.

"Sorry, I forgot," she apologized with a lovely pout, only to be scooped up and spun around with his joy, such public displays of affection uncommon for her buttoned-down husband.

She didn't know which to complain about first, the baby or her hair, of course, the baby winning out. "William, the baby!" she screamed as he gently rested her feet back on the ground. _**Oh**_ , _she just couldn't help it_ , locking her fingers into his exquisite dark hair and planting a passionate kiss on his lips. Her heart skipped a beat as she felt him kiss back, public display or not.

Rebecca was tempted to applaud, clapping her hands together with glee once or twice. What a brilliant, magnificent couple, dynamic, bright, clearly very much in love. She reveled and relished in the sight, admiring them both so.

The two women decided to stay behind to do further teats – Julia wanted to analyze some of the victim's blood to be able to provide further proof that the blood on Mulligan's rug was a match for Ieva Baltavesky. She suggested that William may want to talk to a Judge, to force the man whose finger was cut off to provide blood, sure his blood would not match, further bolstering their argument that the blood on the rug could not be his.

He decided against it for now – it would take too much time. He wanted to get Mulligan to confess _before_ Meyers or Clegg could get wind of his new plan. The detective thanked them both profusely and took his leave.

))) (((

Convincing the Inspector that time was of the essence was not difficult for the detective, after what had happened yesterday with Meyers when he had tried to interrogate Mulligan. Thus, they had a subpoena from the Judge within an hour and had Mulligan in the Interrogation Room by five o'clock.

Inspector Brackenreid looked on from the outside, intensely peering through the metal mesh on the Interrogation Room door. On the Interview Table between the two men, Detective Murdoch had placed several items. One of them was the evidence file – the letter from Adomas Baltavesky to his wife Ieva now removed from evidence to protect "National Security." However, the file contained newly added information to the postmortem report – specifically the XX gender analysis of the blood on the rug the detective was now claiming as evidence in the case of Ieva Baltavesky's murder. Said rug also laid, rolled up, on the Interview Table, its reddish-brown blood stains front and center. Off to the side, there were a set of keys – notably on a St. Valentine's keychain, next to a photograph of some other keys (those belonging to the current night-watchman at Davies Slaughterhouse).

Before showing his hand, Detective Murdoch planned to re-establish some important facts. He was cunning, seeking questions that would draw the suspect into his trap, starting with questions that were undeniably a _yes_ to answer. Inch by inch, Mulligan stepped closer and closer to the point of no return. Provided Meyers or Clegg did not show up to stop the detective, Mulligan was already facing checkmate – the man just didn't know it yet.

"Your name is Liam Mulligan," the detective started, "and you are the manager at Davies Slaughterhouse."

A _yes_ , but annoyed, restless, adding, "We have already established that Murdoch. Once again, you are wasting my time."

Detective Murdoch scratched his head, forced himself to continue to move at his own pace, fought the urge to sigh. "Yes. I will get to the point soon. Please be patient Mr. Mulligan," he requested as politely as possible, lifting the edges of his mouth into a grin. "Is it true that you have admitted that this green rug belonged to you, and was on the floor in your office at Davies Slaughterhouse… uh, before Constable Crabtree observed it in the trashcan at that same location?" the detective asked.

Another _yes_ , but with the stipulation that this was only true, "provided that it is the same one you had before," the Davies manager agreed, reluctantly, trying to leave wiggle-room for his escape.

"Now, as the manager of Davies Slaughterhouse, would you be the one who would speak to someone about employees – past and present?" the detective went on to ask.

Again, Mulligan answered with a _yes_ , adding, "usually anyway."

 _Still looking for the trap_ , William thought to himself…

Julia suddenly appeared next to the Inspector at the door, drawing William's eyes. Mulligan noticed his glance, also turning to look to the door. Optimism flashed across the suspect's face – _expecting the detective's plans were about to be destroyed again?!_

Refocusing, Murdoch cleared his throat and asked, "And we have already established that you were present at Davies Slaughterhouse on November 23rd, when a mister…" he opened a folder on the Interview Table and pulled out a hospital bill, "David Bradley had cut off his finger and was treated at Toronto General Hospital?" The detective paused, waiting for Mulligan's agreement.

"Yes! Yes! Murdoch! Again, I say, you are wasting my time. Yes, Bradley bled all over my rug! As I already said, that explains why there was blood on it – _human_ blood as you made such a big deal to prove. Honestly, is all of this really necessary?" Mulligan complained, pushing away from the table as if he were going to go.

"I'm afraid it is," Murdoch said, making sure to stay put in his chair. "Please Mr. Mulligan, a few more questions," he urged, gesturing with his hands flat on the table, suggesting he had more items to discuss.

Outside and uncertain whether it would rile her husband or not, Julia had some evidence that she thought would all but tie-up his case, so she decided to knock and open the door.

"Detective," she interrupted the men, stepping in and then turning briefly to the suspect. She said directly to him, "I apologize for the interruption sir. I hope you will understand," she turned back to William and said, "Detective, I have more… for the postmortem. Could I have a moment?"

"Doctor," William replied, bowing his head as he stood.

Mulligan muttered something under his breath, William thinking he heard the word "toff."

"This will be quick Mr. Mulligan," the detective added, deciding to ignore the suspect's goading comments and behavior, despite the fact he sensed the repugnance had been aimed at his wife. He was relieved about one thing, however, Mulligan seemed to have gotten the message that he was not going anywhere soon, now having settled into his chair with his armed crossed in front of his chest defiantly.

Out in the hallway, the three of them, William, Julia, and the Inspector, huddled together as Julia held the latest blood results out for all to study. "Ieva Baltavesky's blood definitely fits the pattern we are claiming," she held William's eyes and nodded to him, adding, "XX."

"Good," he said.

The Inspector also nodded, he understood the significance of the findings, knowing that these results were exactly what this dynamic duo had expected.

Julia went on, her whisper still managing to express her excitement, "But there is even more – it's even better," she said. "I was inspired by Dr. Grace's work on blood-typing," again she looked to William to be certain he understood.

"He nodded and whispered in reply, "Yes, she found a new blood type… Type-D blood, wasn't it?" he asked. She nodded and they both looked at the Inspector. William reminded him, "She discovered it during the case with the professional cyclists – remember, the man who died while I was racing against him?"

Inspector Brackenreid's eyebrows lifted, adding emphasis to his nod, as he mouthed, "Oh." He remembered.

"Well, detective, here is where your luck has really turned on this case," she said both admiringly and reassuringly. William's heart soared with hope – she had something substantial!

All of the blood samples we took from Mulligan's green rug were type…" she paused and looked at her husband. Their eyes stuck together briefly, excitement growing. She would wait for him to say it, not sure if he was aware that type-AB blood was extremely rare…

"Was it type-D blood?" he nearly jumped to ask, suggesting that he did.

"Yes," she replied excitedly, "Although it is actually called type-AB blood, not type-D." Next, she leaned in closer to the two men, prompting them both to hold their breath…

Brackenreid didn't know much about this type-AB blood thing, but he knew enough to know that if Ieva Balta…

"Well, gentlemen," Dr. Ogden stated plainly, "it turns out that Ieva Baltavesky was also…"

" _Type-AB blood_ ," all three of them said in unison.

"That's outstanding!" William declared.

The doctor added, "Probably even more significant than her blood being female, only about one percent of the population has this type of blood. We can rest assured that the man who cut his finger off…"

"David Bradley," William said.

"I'd wager…" the doctor started…

The Inspector finishing her sentence for her, "There isn't a snowball's chance in hell this Bradley fellow also has this rare type of blood." All of them nodded.

The detective walked back into the Interrogation Room, the Inspector and the doctor watching through the door. Exuding confidence, the detective's look intimidated Mulligan right away. The suspect looked away, but his body language clearly indicated that he was worried.

Still, Mulligan held out, denying his guilt in murdering Ieva Baltavesky as he had all along. First denying that he had ever met Ieva Baltavesky, even as the detective determined that he was working at Davies at the time, and that they had a signed statement from a woman who was an acquaintance of Ieva Baltavesky's from their Lithuanian church here in Toronto. The statement stated that Ieva Baltavesky was looking for her husband and that she had asked for directions to Davies Slaughterhouse. Further, Mulligan had admitted that, as manager, Mrs. Baltavesky would have eventually met with him about her missing husband. Despite the evidence to the contrary, Mulligan continued his denials, claiming that Adomas Baltavesky had never worked at Davies Slaughterhouse and that he had never met Ieva Baltavesky.

Although the suspect visibly wavered when the detective provided evidence that Adomas Baltavesky's keychain had five keys on it that matched precisely the keys used by the current night watchman at Davies Slaughterhouse, he nevertheless denied knowing the man. Murdoch pushed the issue, threatening, "Mr. Mulligan, I hold that should we get a subpoena to search Davies Slaughterhouse and try these keys on the locks there, we will find that these keys, belonging to Adomas Baltavesky, will be for some of those locks."

Mulligan held his ground, "Then I guess that is what you will have to do," he resigned. However, just like yesterday, when the man was about to break, right before Meyers stopped the interrogation, sweat pooled in the fabric of Mulligan's armpits, darkening it. His leg shook violently under the table, his color had become pale. Murdoch realized that now was the time to bring it home.

Being sure to let the suspect dig himself too deep into the hole to get out, Detective Murdoch asked Mulligan again to state where the blood on his green carpet came from. Just as Murdoch had been planning in his internal chess game, the suspect stuck to that part of his story too, claiming once more that it was the blood of David Bradley. That is when the detective laid out the blood evidence clearly – showing that without a doubt, the blood on the carpet was _female_ blood, thus of course matching the blood of Ieva Baltavesky. However, the blood on the carpet would certainly not match that of David Bradley.

Presented with the damning evidence, Mulligan's eyes seemed to glaze over – the man appearing as if he might faint. Murdoch sensed that he was on the verge of tears. If he had nothing more, he would have asked Mulligan to explain the evidence right then and there, knowing that his inability to do so would crack him – but, Murdoch had more, much, much more.

The detective then hurriedly went on to drive the nail into the coffin. Before the man had had a chance to confirm or deny his guilt, Murdoch added that the blood on the Mulligan's rug was from an individual who was not only _female_ , but who was _also_ type-AB, explaining that this type of blood is only found in one percent of the population.

 _Oh, how William reveled in it, the pause, the look of panic on the suspect's face, at that singular moment when their brain rushes ahead and predicts what his next piece of evidence will be, knowing it is that exact piece of evidence that will guarantee their guilt_. He only needed to start to say it, "Ieva Baltavesky's blood is…" before Mulligan threw up his hands and admitted to killing Ieva Baltavesky, and the waterworks began.

The suspect blubbered on adding to his list of confessions, albeit with a little prodding from Murdoch, that he had also killed Kempsey – the man who Mulligan then admitted had moved Baltavesky's body for him, taking it from his office at Davies Slaughterhouse to dress it up like a doxy and dump it behind a low-class brothel. Mulligan even confessed to having workers at Davies run Kempsey's body through the butchering process, much as had almost happened to William himself, and Constable Jackson.

Mulligan took exception to being responsible for trying to have Murdoch killed, along with Constable Jackson. Standing up out of his chair to do so, pounding a fist on the table, he strongly denied being the one to commit that particular crime. Mulligan denied being the one who had ordered the workers at Davies to tie Murdoch and the constable up in rope and burlap and hang them from the ceiling on meat hooks, with the intention of sending them down the line to be killed and cut up like meat. His distaste for Murdoch drove him to add a comment however, about how he admired whoever had come up with such a fitting demise for him.

It is then that Meyers and Clegg showed up, Meyers busting into the Interrogation Room, having barreled passed the Inspector and the detective's wife, the good doctor, demanding Mulligan cease speaking immediately and that Murdoch come with him, then marching out of the room. Murdoch told Mulligan to sit down and wait, gathered up all the evidence in his arms, and informed a constable to stand outside the Interrogation Room door.

In his mind, William criticized his own slowness to officially arrest Mulligan for the crimes he had admitted to committing. _If only he had not pushed for more_ , seeking an admission to attempted murder of himself and Jackson, there would be virtually nothing Meyers or Clegg could do to block justice. However, as it stood now, all they had was a confession, a confession that could be ignored. Mulligan could still go free.

The blinds to the Inspector's office pulled down, it was still clear that the conversation between the Inspector, Detective Murdoch, Dr. Ogden, Meyers and Clegg was heated, to say the least, at least at first. Clegg told them that a source had alerted him that Detective Murdoch was re-opening the investigation into a murder. Figuring that it was the murder of Adomas Baltavesky, he had called Meyers and the two of them had rushed over to Stationhouse # 4 to stop it – which at first they believed they had just done.

Murdoch started to explain, but the Inspector took over, indicating that he and the detective were completely aware of the "deal" the two spies had struck last summer, and that because of that deal, they had already accepted that there would be no investigation into Adomas Baltavesky's death.

It was Meyers who interrupted first, asking, "So, you're not investigating the murder of Adomas Baltavesky then?"

"No," Murdoch answered plainly. "His wife, Ieva Baltavesky," he said.

It interested William how differently he felt now about the spies' attempted intervention into his investigation as compared to how he had felt just yesterday when Meyers had stopped him. William was now filled with confidence, certain he would not yield his investigation to these men, well at least not lightly. Wondering to himself as an aside he thought, " _Perhaps it was because Mulligan had already confessed, or maybe it was because he and Julia had made-up?"_ Whatever the reason, he was going to fight tooth and nail to get this killer behind bars, and hopefully at the end of a noose, if that is what it took.

For his part, Meyers remembered what he had overheard Murdoch say to the Prime Minister on the phone last night, that Mulligan had killed both Adomas Baltavesky's wife, and the worker who had helped Mulligan move the slain woman's body. He wondered if there might not be a way to let Murdoch have this case…

Standing, thus commanding everyone's attention, Detective Murdoch added, "And Mulligan has confessed to killing her, as well as to killing the man who had helped him get rid of her body…"

Everyone in the room saw it when it happened, the detective's jaw locked, his eyes honed in, powerful, charged. Suddenly, there was a fury in his heart that had been ignited by whatever he was about to say. His rage had erupted so fiercely, so suddenly, that it startled even his wife.

A deep breath first, Murdoch said, clearly sickened by the crime, "He stabbed this woman, a woman who had lost so much, who had lost her husband, and believe me she knew it – she knew she wasn't looking for her husband. She knew that for a man as loyal to her as her husband was to have abandoned her, he must have been killed. She would have known he was dead, had been killed, surely she was horrified by it, but still she needed certainty – to gain closure. Their little son had died from lack of money to care for him in his illness, she had nothing left but to prove her husband's murder… and she showed up at Mulligan's door. And this…" He paused, his fists clenched tight…

" _He's going to hit something!"_ Julia almost gasped with the look of him, her thoughts running away with her, remembering that she only knew the tip of the iceberg of what her husband had been through on this case, as she watched him boil over.

William dropped his head, lowering his eyes out of view. If they could have seen those eyes, they would have known the excruciating pain he felt. He took a deep breath. Began again, keeping his head down, "He had Kempsey dress her body up as if she were some common," he paused, felt tears forming, then felt them be steamed away with his anger, "Whore! And he had her body, her beautiful, innocent body, dumped like so much trash, behind the lowliest brothel in town, with the garbage. He has admitted to doing this, shows no regret for doing it, only for being caught."

"And I might add," the Inspector interjected, "This creep particularly regrets being caught _by Murdoch_ here. Seems to be personal with him."

The pig-sounds Mulligan had made as he walked arrogantly passed him in the hallway yesterday replayed in William's mind, adding fuel to the fire. Making things worse, then he remembered Mulligan charging at him while they were in the Judge's office, soon after his almost being killed on the meat hook, the man sneering, "If you stick your nose where it does not belong, detective, you should not be surprised if you end up being mistaken for a **PIG**."

 _Julia found herself wondering about what the Inspector had said. Sometimes it was blatantly obvious, like now, that there was so much that she did not know of her husband's harsh encounters and suffering with his work._

William blew out a blast of air, working to lower his internal pressure. He returned to sit on the couch next to Julia, never once letting his eyes touch anyone else's.

Momentarily, she considered taking his hand. " _No, not a good idea_ ," she thought.

"Gentlemen," she said, "It seems to me that in the past, whenever the two of you have stopped one of my husband's investigations, it has been because of Na…"

Under other circumstances, she would have laughed when both William and the Inspector piped in to say with her… "National Security," but there was so much more at stake it seemed, this time.

It turned out she gave a slight chuckle anyway, before she went on. "Well, I don't see how arresting Mr. Mulligan for killing Ieva Baltavesky is a threat to either of our countries' national security really. Is it?" she asked the room.

Immediately Clegg felt threatened, he was losing control, and now all the Canadians in the room suddenly seemed to have the upper hand. "Detective, if I understand your case, part of it involves this Ieva Balta…" he paused struggling with her name, "whatever, showing up to confront Mulligan about her husband being killed. And it is precisely _her husband_ that I must insist we stay away from," he stated, his voice rising with insistence and intensity as he spoke. Clegg focused on Meyers, "Terrence, I tell you, if you insist on going through with this, it will be seen as Canada going back on the deal… There will be serious consequences. Canada's sabotaging of American meat companies will come out, and will have to be dealt with!" he yelled.

"Now Alan," Meyers worked to appease, "You already know that if that were to happen, then we would need to hold the government of the United States responsible for the murdering of a Canadian citizen…

Julia hurried her mind to keep up. There was quite a lot she did not know about this whole case.

Meyers continued, "Now let's keep cooler heads for a minute and think this out," he requested.

Clegg did not look happy. "Give me the phone," he demanded. He marched passed the Inspector, lifting the receiver.

Figuring that Clegg was calling his superior, the President of the United States, Meyers approached the man as he dialed. Everyone else in the room felt the thrill of the battle, and unfortunately, the likely possibility of defeat.

Meyers lit a cigar, essential to calming his nerves. "Alan, there's no need to bother the president. We can work this…"

"I'm not calling _my_ superior Meyers," the little scrawny man slyly said, leaving the obvious question dangling in the air.

"I'll bite," the Inspector said as everyone could hear the phone ringing on the other end, "Who are you calling?" he asked.

Clegg glared at Meyers. "Yours," he said.

"Who's this?" a man's voice could be heard asking, the tone annoyed, on the other end of the line.

Meyers recognized the voice immediately – it was that of the Prime Minister. "Oh you rat," he said to Clegg, shaking his head with his disgust. "He's calling _**my**_ superior," he informed everyone.

Murdoch's eyebrow shot up as he looked at Julia and then around at the others.

Into the phone, Clegg spoke to the Prime Minister, attempting to bully and frighten Canada's leader into demanding that Murdoch stop his investigation of everything that had anything to do with Adomas Baltavesky. As the conversation went on, albeit it was a rather short one, it sounded as if there was a good chance that Clegg was going to get his way.

Julia studied her husband out of the corner of her eye, concerned for him, particularly considering the deep despair and devastation he had revealed to her earlier in the day. _His reaction seemed somewhat typical for the situation_ , she told herself, managing her worry. He had locked his jaw again, fighting back his anger, and he had exhaled sharply, suggesting the pressure was getting to him. But, none of these things indicated that he felt defeated. She wasn't sure if ultimately this was good or bad, for he would have that much farther to fall if the Prime Minster decreed that he release Mulligan, once again.

Surprising everyone – even Clegg, it was Meyers who saved the day in the end. By the time Clegg smugly handed Meyers the phone for the Prime Minister to admonish him, he had had an idea, stimulated by the good doctor's question. Meyers suggested to the Prime Minister that it would be of no threat to the United States, or to Canada for that matter, if Mulligan were convicted of killing _a_ _ **prostitute**_ _who had shown up at his place of business threatening to_ _ **blackmail**_ _him, demanding money to keep quiet_ _ **about their sexual interactions**_. Meyers held that Mulligan was a married man, and such threats might very well have endangered his top position at Davies as well, thus providing a plausible motive for Mulligan to have had for killing her. Further, Detective Murdoch's evidence in the case showed that Ieva Baltavesky's body had been found dressed in a _**showgirl costume**_ _,_ as would be expected of a prostitute – outside the backdoor of a _**brothel**_ after all.

Working for Murdoch's approval of the idea, because it would require that Murdoch accept it as well, Meyers argued to the Prime Minister, "This Mulligan fellow would surely be convicted for committing this murder, especially with all this fancy newfangled scientific blood evidence the renowned detective and his remarkably beautiful wife, the esteemed pathologist here…"

" _Meyers just ogled Julia!"_ he was sure of it, William's blood boiled with jealousy, his hands clenching into fists, he felt his jaw grit tighter, jeopardizing the chipping of a tooth…

Meyers had been looking to Murdoch, anticipating seeing that he was satisfied with the plan of changing Mulligan's alleged motive to keep Ieva Baltavesky's husband out of the investigation, especially because the Prime Minister seemed to be agreeable to it. He hoped Murdoch would see that the trade-off would be worth it in the end, bend on the motive to ensure that Mulligan be arrested and tried for killing Ieva Baltavesky. Unfortunately, when assessing Murdoch's opinion, it was the detective's fury that he saw once more, rather than his acceptance.

Of course, Julia knew why William appeared to be so angry, and it was _**not**_ because her husband was unwilling to accept this lesser than true motive for Mulligan's abhorrent actions. Not at all. It was because Meyers had just flirted with her! _Is it possible these men don't even know when they do these things!?_ " she wondered to herself, unsure whether to be disgusted or astounded. Either way, Julia decided to nip it in the bud. As Meyers continued his discussion on the phone, all the time anxiously watching the detective, she lifted her husband's arm to put it around her shoulders, sliding closer to him on the Inspector's couch.

She whispered in William's ear, "We got him, detective. It looks like the Prime Minster is going to let the investigation go on, he'll let Mulligan's confession stand." She kissed his cheek, despite their being quite obviously in public.

Normally he would have rejected her public advances – or perhaps turned crimson with blushing, but he was still too perturbed with Meyers, jealousy pumping in his blood. He exhaled.

" _Good, he's breathing at least_ ," she thought, " _He still needs a little more sugar."_

Julia tucked her lips into her husband's neck, breathed in the smell of him, knowing it triggered a more primal side of him when she sucked in the scent of him so. Her lips hovered over his ear, and she whispered, her warm breath melting his icy resistance, "Once again, I find I have to say, William, _nothing_ is more exciting than working with you again. Well…" her hesitation priceless, "maybe there is _one_ thing."

 _Oh, she had him._

William turned his head towards his wife, his nose, his face, pushing hers out of his neck. "Julia," he whispered, his tone seduced, "We're not alone."

"Of course, William," she whispered her reply, pulling away and straightening her skirt. Fortunately, he never looked to see the devilish smile on her face. She was a wise one, and my God, she loved him so much!

Meyers asked Clegg to take the phone. Clegg had no choice but to agree to the plan as it met his one requirement, thus it was decided. The evidence against Mulligan needed to be completely void of any connections, whatsoever, to Adomas Baltavesky. The stated motive for the killing was to be that Mulligan wanted to get rid of Ieva Baltavesky to protect his reputation and to avoid paying blackmail. For the motive to be believable, Ieva Baltavesky would have to be labeled a prostitute, which it was believed would not be difficult because of how she had been dressed when her body was found, and where she appeared to have been killed.

Fighting back his aversion to doing so, Murdoch volunteered that it turned out that Ieva Baltavesky had practiced some prostitution, in Winnipeg, stipulating that her doing so was solely out of sheer desperation. He shared some of the victim's horrible story, that her husband had promised to send money which never came, because he had been killed, and their toddler son was ill and needed medical treatment or he would die, and she had found money for him anyway she could, and then the little boy had died anyway.

The Inspector stood, signaling that the meeting was drawing to a close. He said, "At least in the end justice will be done. Murdoch, it seems you have an arrest to make."

Meyers glanced at Clegg and the added, "Perhaps we should go over the evidence that will be included in the case against Mulligan first..."

Clegg stood up taller, demanding that he be personally involved with such decisions. They agreed that Meyers would need to approve any allowable evidence as well.

Julia noticed the discomfort on William's face as he struggled with the increasing degree of loss of control. She planned to talk with him about it, hoping to help him see the resolution as being good enough… _But she couldn't seem to get out of this gosh-darned couch!_ She clutched her fingers tightly into the one arm of the couch she could reach, and rocked back and forth trying to gain momentum…

William caught a glimpse of her efforts out of the corner of his eye, hurrying to offer her a hand. She gladly took it. The three other men watched the detective's gallant, chivalrous rush to help his wife. Standing next to him, all of them dropped their eyes down to her extended belly.

The inspector remarked, "You really are incredibly large with child doctor," his comment receiving nods from all the men.

Julia looked to William, unable to tell whether he was beaming with pride for having impregnated her or embarrassed because now everyone would be imagining the two of them having sex. " _Men!_ " her brain charged silently. Deciding to address the comment matter-of-factly, she stressed the extreme difficulties such a late-stage of pregnancy brought about, reflecting aloud, "I do often wonder how cavewomen did it."

Immediately chiding in, as if it were obvious, William replied, "Their caveman husbands helped."

Julia's eyes rolled upwards with her exasperation. " _Oh, he had no idea_ ," she thought to herself. Sarcastically she responded, "Of course, William, that's how they did it," as she huffed to the door. As she marched to his office, arms pumping away, she found her seething at him quickly dissipated, but, _my God_ , how much his conclusion infuriated her.

Rushing to check the reactions of the other men, wondering if they had detected her annoyance with his suggestion, William glanced at the faces of the other men. They appeared to be a bit surprised and returned compassionate looks his way, answering his internal question.

The Inspector said quietly, leaning in, not wanting her to hear, "Sounded good to me, me old mucker," with a shrug. He turned to address Meyers and Clegg. "Well, gentlemen, perhaps the detective and the doctor may need a moment. Shall we start with your ideas of what you already know you want removed from the case…"

William wrinkled a corner of his mouth, admitting he might be in trouble, and took his leave.

) (

Julia sat at one of the tall stools at his worktable when he stepped into his office. Her glance was friendly enough. He closed the door behind him, considered pulling down the blinds, deciding to pull down the blinds closest to the door. "I'm sorry Julia," he said as he lowered the blinds, "I didn't mean to imply that women need m…"

"Come here, detective," she interrupted, surging relief through him, along with a carnal jolt.

He stepped close to her and she wrapped her arms around his neck. "Are you alright with the plan… for the case?" she asked.

William moved even closer, standing between her legs, putting his arms around her waist, his hands opening and supporting her back. Not speaking, he answered her with a twist at the corner of his mouth.

" _Not happy, but he's decided it will have to do,_ " she told herself. Thinking it would brighten his mood, she highlighted the success of the outcome, "Justice is done for Ieva Baltavesky," she said. "William, I'm sure, if her husband could have said, he would have preferred to have _her_ killer be held accountable more so than his," she explained.

"Sounds wise," he replied. After a deep sigh, William reached over and picked up Adomas' keys from the worktable where he had dropped the evidence from the interrogation on his way to the meeting in the Inspector's office.

Julia watched him as his fingers settled on the small metallic figure of St. Valentine.

"They were so in love, Julia," he said, his voice wispy, far-off.

"They were," she replied, bringing her voice close to his ear. She knew he was thinking it, " _Like us._ " When he turned his eyes back to meet hers, her heart throbbed with love for him, his beautiful brown eyes, so deep and warm, tender with compassion…

"They should be together," he said.

) (

Back in the Inspector's office, the two spies and Brackenreid were working on a problem Meyers had discovered with Murdoch's investigation. The keys the detective had on the interview table, Brackenreid impressed that Meyers had noticed them at all, indicated that somehow Murdoch had obtained Adomas Baltavesky's personal effects, which implied that he had gotten evidence _from Stationhouse #5_. Meyers was making it plain to the Inspector that nothing from _that_ investigation could be included in the records or evidence for Murdoch's investigation.

Brackenreid wanted to talk with Murdoch before he agreed, but he predicted that Murdoch would not need anything from the minimal, shoddy, and Meyers-corrupted, investigation Stationhouse #5 had done into Adomas Baltavesky's death, at least not to get Mulligan convicted for the murder of Baltavesky's wife. The men agreed that it would be best not to return the items to Stationhouse #5 as that would draw even more attention to the case that they wanted to keep hidden. Meyers intended to collect the items and dispose of them himself. Clegg asked to use the phone to call the President of the United States and inform him of the situation. He was starting the call as Meyers left.

) (

Stepping back, taking her hand and guiding her off the stool and into his arms, William said, "You never cease to amaze me Julia." He tucked his fingers under her chin, lifting her face to him softly. " _My God, she is beautiful,_ " he thought as his breath flowed over his heart before it warmed her face. His thumb glanced her lips, his eyes darkened as he soaked in the sight of her. Thoughts flickered across his mind, bright flashes too quick to catch, too fleeting to be spoken aloud – images of her beaming face as he had lifted his face from the microscope, having seen for himself the XX-symmetry of her white blood cell, so clearly different than his own… And her tear-filled eyes when she told him she could trust him again because she saw that _he too_ felt the pain he had caused her with his secrecy, and her teasing when she anticipated he would say he was glad he had married her once again. Each image, each thought, cascaded through his mind with sparkles and glimmers, lighting up his heart.

The effect these enchanting memories created in his eyes, in his face, dazzled her to the bone, weakened her knees, stole her breath. "We always made a good team," she replied _. My God, she wished he would kiss her… so close… despite being in his office… please William…_ She felt his fingers across the edges of her ear, slip into her hair, dropping her, twisting her, tormenting her, seeming to steam away any possibility of resistance.

His lips touched hers, slowly caressing, sliding, moving, molding her supple, pink flesh below them. Uncontrollable, the deep, yearning moan that escaped her throat for this man, opening her mouth to him. Devastating, the delicious crash as his tongue breached the boundary, so soft, growing hungry, rhythmically pushing in farther and farther.

Then, William moved back, now his lips on her cheek, his breath in her neck. Although the room was spinning, floating her every cell with delight, she pushed to find words, finding a giggle sprinkle the air around his ear first, for the struggle was surprising difficult. "William," she said, breathless, lovely with its weakness, "There truly is nothing more exciting than being with you… nothing."

They separated a bit, both needing air. William entertained the idea of stopping to buy her flowers on the way home, becoming startled by the memory that he had just bought her a dozen yellow roses this morning. Time had flown by, so much had happened since then.

Julia asked, pulling him out of his thoughts, "Do you think you will be long?"

He needed to clear his throat. "Meyers and Clegg need to go over the evidence with me… To agree on what will stay in and what will go out. It could be long," he answered, wrinkling a corner of his mouth, attempting to apologize.

Her expression showing her disappointment, he scooped her back up and reminded, "We can't…" his breath rattled across her ear, and she knew what he wanted… to say… to do. He kissed her neck, nibbled at it, sucked gently on its flesh. In his mind, he finished his thought, " _Not even Plan C."_

Even so, despite not being able to make love, she knew she wanted to be with him, close to him, to have him with her _wherever_ she was. She had missed him so. "William," she whispered before kissing his ear, prompting him to release her neck from his grasp. She pulled back, bringing their eyes to meet. "I want you home, William… with your stomach full of a warm, delicious dinner… and showered… and in pajamas," she urged, but then lifting her eyebrow warning of her naughtiness as she considered, "or not…"

Seeing it, feeling it, in his mind, William tightened his jaw fighting the desire mounting within him, for he too longed for the sensuous contact of the unbearably sumptuous feelings of her smooth, bare skin sliding along his, her curves, luscious and soft, molding around his more rigid ones, as they moved, and writhed, and entangled, ferociously, harmoniously, together.

Julia's voice tempted, "I know we can't make love, but I want to sleep with you in our bed, with me, William… I want to hear you breathing by my side… to _feel_ you breathing next me, under me. William Murdoch, I want you home."

Hugging her tight, he responded, the tone of his voice soothing her deeper and deeper as the words sunk down, sunk in, "As do I…"

) (

So many things went through his mind immediately after Meyers tapped on the detective's door, opening it before hearing a response, to catch the couple in a passionate embrace. Through it all, though, he found his brain stuck on one memory more so than on any others dancing around in his head – that of him and Ettie arguing on the phone last night. Perhaps it was because he expected that, like it had happened last night with he and Ettie, such passion followed this couple's argument as well – in their case the dust up being ridiculously _about pregnancy, and Neolithic cave dwellers, of all things_. Or maybe it was because he had been furiously jealous of Murdoch in Winnipeg, or because, despite his crazed, wild love for Ettie he still found the other man's wife remarkably attractive. Whatever the reason, he barely had time to think to apologize.

As the couple jumped apart, Terrence uttered _, smoothly_ , he thought, "I trust you two worked things out." His mind drifted away, thinking of how he and Ettie had talked through their problems on the phone, sighing contently remembering that they had gotten to sharing how much they felt for each other in the end.

William scratched the back of his head while Julia straightened her skirt. He cleared his throat, almost coughed, asking, "Shall I make a list of what I need for the… current investigation?" Murdoch walked to his desk and lifted a file.

"So, I won't wait dinner for you then," Julia asked, walking to the door, her arms feeling so empty without him.

William slowed himself, consciously making sure she saw his love, his devotion. "Best not," he replied simply. He told himself she would wait, reassuring himself he would be with her in their bed tonight. After she had gone, his eyes remained on the back of the door, longing for her. He sighed, his chest visibly rising, his yearning palpable.

Meyers then made a mistake, forgetting, that where his mind had just gone, to Ettie, as had been happening constantly to him as of late, was not the same place where it had left only moments ago. Thus, there was a disconnect when he confided in Murdoch, "I guess you know that I quite fancy her."

William's mind blasted, " _Unbelievable this man's boldness!"_ it screamed at him, his rage rising, fuming, explosion ominously imminent. " **My wife?"** he questioned, angrily, shock forcing the question.

 _Meyers looked so puzzled_ , William noticed…

"No Ettie. Why would you think your wife?" Meyers asked, innocently.

Working to calm himself, experience having taught him that it was best to do so when feeling confused, William explained his leap to jealousy, at least from his side of things. "You said she was beautiful, uh… to the Prime Minister, on the phone. 'Remarkably beautiful,' you said. That was not necessary," he offered.

Meyers, so nonchalantly replied, "Well, she is remarkably beautiful… your wife, I mean. You must agree…"

Astonished, William's mouth hung open, while somewhere in the back of his mind, through the fog, he heard his own voice say, " _Yes, that's true._ "

Meyers went on, "And besides, you should talk – I found you in Ettie's room, remember."

It did not happen often, that William felt like he could not keep up, but he was terribly lost. " _How did they get to talking about Ettie,_ " his mind shouted. Dazed, confounded, he tried to defend himself, "There was nothing romantic between us. There hasn't been for years… many years."

Terrence's heart pounded so in his chest – reacting to the danger of treading so close to the edge, not sure he could trust this man, wanting so badly to tell someone, someone who might understand. Bravely he refused to let himself think about it, pushed forward, "Not you for her. But, I dare say, I fear that may not be the case for her feelings for you."

Discomfort flooded through William. _Back off, increase the distance, this is too close, too uncomfortable,_ his advice came. "I don't see why that's any of your business," Murdoch said.

Bringing them back full circle, still holding onto hope that this particular man would understand his desperation, Meyers explained, "It might be, as I said, I quite fancy her."

It made a little more sense now, this whole conversation, William thought, sensing he was catching on, identifying the muddled state as being due to Meyers' situation more so than his own. _Meyers was speaking of Ettie! The man was madly in love with Ettie! Not Julia! Of course, of course_. William's heartbeat slowed and he told himself to listen. He found it in his heart for Meyers – compassion.

"Look, Murdoch, I know now that I owe you – Ettie yelled at me when I called her last night, gave me hell for stopping your case…"

"Is that why you helped today? Kept my investigation going forward – found a way to allow me to go after Mulligan despite Clegg?" Murdoch asked.

Meyers seemed to think for a moment. Not answering the question, not directly, he went on, "She told me it was you who convinced her to trust me – to _let_ herself love me, Murdoch – and truth be told…"

" _A rare occurrence in his case_ ," William thought sarcastically in his head.

"I think about her all the time… I want you to know, I'm grateful to you for that," Meyers gushed.

Suddenly both men felt terribly uncomfortable. Murdoch half ran to retreat to safety behind his desk. Meyers dashed to stand on the opposite side of it, the physical boundaries bringing each of them a modicum of relief.

"We should address the evidence – I've yet to officially arrest Mulligan," the detective said, hurrying to leaf through the files.

"Yes, I'll check with Clegg," Meyers suggested.

And yet, Meyers did not move, did not take his leave. The man sighed, a heavy deep sigh, the kind William knew in his bones, a sigh that tells of the starvation a man feels. William was certain, as Meyers began to speak again, that the conversation had fallen back to Ettie.

Meyers fiddled with the tiny scales on Murdoch's _Lady Justice_ Statue on his desk and asked, "Did you ever notice, Murdoch, that when you love a woman, well, it changed you… and you suddenly find yourself doing things you normally wouldn't do?" Meyers lifted his eyes to meet Murdoch's.

Feeling tugged, William yielded, gave in, opened up and quietly acquiesced his private being. "I have," he reflected aloud, sharing, trusting. He dropped his eyes away, imagined Julia… "But I have also found it has only made me a better man…" His eyes spotted the St. Valentine's keychain on the worktable. He continued, "For her… I want to be a better man. I'd walk through fire for her…" Suddenly he wrinkled a corner of his mouth seeing it in his mind, the flames, high, and smoke thick, being terrified, not of dying but of being too late. William pulled his attention back to the present and looked Meyers in the eye. "I have, actually," he said.

William took a deep breath. He remembered only this afternoon, falling to his knees, feeling more desperate than he remembered ever feeling before, needing her love. He confided, "But what takes the most courage - shakes my very being, is that at times I have to truly look at myself, to find feelings I'd rather hide from, and show them to myself…" he swallowed reacting to the stress, "and to her, to trust… that much. I've never faced anything more frightening than knowing that I could lose her, lose her love really, and trusting that I won't - if I'm true."

The two men stood on opposite sides of the detective's desk, quiet for a moment. William wondered if Meyers had actually had this happen to him yet. Thinking of the rarity of Julia, he realized that without her, he would not have done such things. She was truly remarkable – truly…

Meyers stood up taller, pulled at his jacket. "Well enough of that Murdoch. I'll take care of Clegg…"

And then William knew that Meyers had not understood, not been able to identify, had never experienced the same. His love with Julia was special, magical, rare indeed… and he was so very grateful for it in that moment.

Meyers headed for the door as he said, "You go ahead and arrest Mulligan. Um, but don't say anything but the bare minimum."

"Understood," the detective replied. Unfortunately, he knew he still needed Mulligan to write and sign his confession.

) (

Placing the paper and pen down on the interview table before the suspect, Detective Murdoch stated, "To be clear Mr. Mulligan, your confession still stands. Please put it in writing and sign it." Anticipating that, having had time to think about it, Mulligan would now recant his confession, the detective was prepared. He sat in his chair across the interview table from Mulligan and began to write his own statement. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that Mulligan had not yet picked up the pen, indicating that it was as he had feared.

His eyes still down on his own statement, Murdoch said calmly, "Both Inspector Brackenreid and myself are each writing our own statements about what we heard you confess. One of the two government officials you saw a few moments ago is with the Inspector right now, the other, as you can see, is here watching us." He gestured subtly towards the door.

Mulligan looked over, able to see Alan Clegg standing on the other side of the Interrogation Room door through the metal mesh.

"Thus, there will be official witnesses to attest to the fact that Inspector Brackenreid and I had no chance to corroborate out stories," he explained, lifting his eyes to meet those of the suspect. Murdoch held the man's eyes, watched him squirm and think and panic and accept defeat. "If it helps you to remember, I will tell you that my statement will claim you confessed to committing two murders…"

Standing on the other side of the Interrogation Room door, the detective's statement infuriated Clegg. " _He was clearly told_ _ **not**_ _to include the husband!"_ he yelled to himself. He prepared to bust in and stop the confession, but coached himself to give Murdoch a moment.

Mulligan's jaw clenched and his eyes narrowed. "You think you are so high and mighty…" he seethed, "You may think you are a goshdarned _**toff**_ now, but you're no more than a stinkin' swine, struttin' around all highfalutin. Goshdarn _snob_ , when you know you're nothin' but _white trash_ , always gonna be, no matter _who_ … nah, _**what**_ … you're married to. All you done is get her down in the gutter now with you, goshdarn _pig_ – made her nothin' but a stinking _**sow**_ is all. I feel sorry for her…"

Obvious to him now, why Mulligan so despised him, William struggled to maintain self-control. Mulligan was jealous, having judged his marrying up poorly. William had let it roll off his back until Mulligan dragged Julia into it. He wondered if the man knew she was his weakness… she had always been his weakness. He was working now, _not_ to let it get to him. "My financial status is irrelevant Mr. Mulligan, to your confession," the detective stated and then returned his attention to his own statement, ignoring the man.

Mulligan huffed and picked up the pen. Glancing down at it, he saw that the paper already included his name, the date and that it was to be his signed confession. Mulligan wrote for a moment and then stopped. "That woman was no more than a _**whore**_ … just like _**you**_ detective," he smirked, implying that Murdoch had sold his carnal flesh for money… to Julia, of all things.

 _Oh, William was imploring his self-control_ , forcing himself to keep the pen moving as he felt his jaw clenching and his fingers drawing together towards a fist. " _Stay relaxed_ ," his inner-voice alerted. " _Take a breath. Get him back to writing, not fighting,_ " he advised himself. "Include it in your confession in you must," he replied, thinking that if Mulligan did so it would help to bolster the lie that Ieva was killed because of an illicit sexual relationship with Mulligan rather than because she was looking for Adomas' murderer.

On the other side of the door, Alan Clegg had also been battling his own impulses, enjoying the distraction of having the detective dragged through the mud. He too found Detective Murdoch to be arrogant, and thrilled in seeing the suspect knock him down a peg or two. _No skin off his back if the man backs out of his confession…_ Meyers unexpectedly appeared next to him. " _Darn_ ," Clegg noticed annoyingly, " _the man has a way of just being there all of a sudden_ ," he thought to himself, irritated by a trait in his counterpart that any spy would admire.

Meyers handed him Brackenreid's statement, which he quickly snatched away, worried about who this _second_ victim was. " _Ieva Baltavesky and_ …" Clegg sighed, _"…a worker from Davies Slaughterhouse… Kempsey,_ " he read, " _No mention of Jonathan Armour_." Predominantly relieved that he would not have to fight, call the Prime Minister, and the President, all over again, he found there was a part of him that was disappointed. There was something so pleasant about riling up Murdoch and Brackenreid, and this case had offered the added benefit of being able to be a burr in Meyers' side as well. Regrettably satisfied, he handed the statement back to Meyers.

In the Interrogation Room, Mulligan had gone back to writing his confession. Before he handed it over, he demanded that the government men hear him out. Thus, Meyers and Clegg joined them in the Interrogation Room. The Inspector watched on from outside.

Mulligan stood, prompting Murdoch to do the same, and straightened his jacket. "Gentlemen, I want it known that your detective here is playing politics, abusing his position in the Constabulary to help his _own relative_ by getting me convicted of murder…"

Again, William felt his jaw clamping, this time in an effort to hold his tongue. _Mulligan was going to make a play for getting the charges thrown-out because he, the detective on the case, was a cousin to the American meat-magnate Jonathan Armour!_ Mulligan's plan would fail, Murdoch's reputation impeccable… at lease on that account, but the last thing he needed was any mention of the _one name_ that would cause Clegg alarm and spur him to go back on the deal. Quickly he assessed Clegg's expression. " _Confused_ ," he noticed. He needed to stop Mulligan before he said Armour's name. He prayed Mulligan had not written Armour's name in his statement, not yet having read it. William looked to Meyers, his eyes pleading. Meyers gave him the slightest nod.

Meyers cleared his throat drawing everyone's attention, reaching out for Mulligan's statement while pulling a nearly finished stump of a cigar out of his mouth to speak. "This concern…" Meyers cast his eyes over the written confession, "…of yours… Mr. Mulligan..." he said whilst skimming the man's written confession. " _No Armour_ ," he noted. "…is not relevant to _your_ guilt or innocence, is it Mr. Mulligan?" he asked, blowing smoke into the man's face. Not waiting for an answer, he turned to Clegg and offered him Mulligan's confession. "I think you'll see it's all in order Alan," he said.

Anyone looking would have seen the detective's chest lift and drop with his sigh of relief. His eyes now honed in on Clegg, assessing his reaction.

Clegg read the statement and nodded. Feeling bothered, not wanting to waste a moment more of his time, he left.

"Make your arrest Murdoch," Meyers decreed before following Clegg out.

))) (((

Dropping by the morgue to collect the extra microscope she had brought from home, Julia was surprised to find Miss James still elbow deep in work. "Miss James," she exclaimed, "Another body?"

Rebecca lifted her head from the dead man's, now, naked body and replied, "Yes… Oh, it seems this gentleman was seen falling from his horse, reportedly in a drunken stupor, and then being trampled to death by multiple carriages…"

"I see," the doctor responded, asking, "So, why is he here and not at the undertaker's. Is there a question about whether he was murdered?"

Rebecca stepped back from the corpse, inviting Dr. Ogden closer, "No mam. That seems pretty straightforward. But his identity is unknown…"

Julia glanced at the man's clothing Miss James had already examined and set aside. "Only keys in his pockets?" she wondered aloud.

"Mm," Rebecca answered.

"Well, I'm sure the detective will be able to figure out who the man is soon enough," Julia reassured. "I don't believe it will be until tomorrow though," she added, as it was already six o'clock, and she knew William still had quite a lot to do.

They covered the corpse and Julia helped Rebecca push the body into the cold-room. Her eyes fell to Ieva Baltavesky's corpse. She sighed as various emotions swirled around inside of her thinking of the woman, her love for her murdered husband, then of William… and his experiences in the jungle…

Miss James' voice pulled her out of her thoughts. "She has been here a long time. Did the XX gender identity of the blood help?" she asked.

Julia's bright blue eyes lifted… focused. "Yes… Yes, I believe so, in the end," she replied. She told of the confession and impending arrest of the Davies Slaughterhouse manager, Mr. Mulligan. Thoughtful, she pulled the sheet back from Ieva's body to reveal her greenish-hued face, somehow still beautiful despite the decayed state. Half speaking to the victim, half to Miss James, she said, "Finally… finally she will be able to rest… In the only place in the world where that would be possible for her, by Adomas' side."

Julia went on to explain that she and William had arranged to have Ieva's body buried next to that of Adomas, in the pauper's cemetery in Wychwood Park, so that she could be with him in the end.

Keeping the details to herself, Julia noted the victim's naked neck, imagining that by tomorrow, when lowered into her grave, she would be wearing her locket. William said he would be placing Ieva's and Adomas' pictures inside of it, replacing Kempsey's theft, so that when it clicked closed for that final time, the lovers would be face-to-face together, locked in a lover's embrace for all of eternity. She sighed… her mind drifting to the two St. Valentine's key-chains they would also place in the coffin with her… and Julia's fingers subconsciously found her own wedding rings as she envisioned Ieva's finger adorned with both hers and her husband's rings. " _Tomorrow_ ," she thought, pushing her mind back into the cold-room with Miss James – grounding again in today.

))) (((

Walking his Bicycle into its storage place in the alcove on the side of their long front porch, William pushed away the intrusive thoughts of the perils and tribulations he had encountered in the jungle. Such thoughts had dominated in his head for the ride as they took advantage of his temporary solitude, but now he reflected on the mild temperatures they were experiencing for so late in December. He remembered that just now on the phone Ettie had said that in Winnipeg was being hammered by a snowstorm. " _Won't last,_ " he thought of the unseasonably warm weather, anticipating the storm's eventual arrival here in Toronto, but not for a day or two yet.

Before stepping into their warm house, he admired the moon. " _Waning gibbous,_ " his scientific mind chimed in before more romantic thoughts took center stage, his mind being swept by memories of seeing the pale colors of the moonbow in the mist of the Umbata waterfall on the moonlit night, only two nights ago, from the rooftop of the moving train. His musings at the time had lured him to how his simply knowing that Julia existed in the world sufficed to provide meaning and sustenance in his life, much as the light of the Sun could be seen illuminating the Moon, creating and crafting something as marvelous as a moonbow. He filled his lungs with the crisp night air, sad and grateful at the same time.

Once inside, removing his coat, he had to stop himself from the habit of reaching up to take off his hat. His mind threatened to fall back into the turmoil of their arguing last night, but he pushed the thoughts away, taking comfort in the reassurance that they had been resolved.

He found Julia asleep in her nightgown and robe, rocked back in his reclining chair. His own weariness impressed upon him how long the day had been, _especially for a woman who was eight-months pregnant_ , he reminded himself. Contently, for he cherished opportunities, such as this one, to covertly study his wife, he stood over her, admiring and adoring her every feature. One of his favorites, her unruly curls dangling and bobbing about escaped from their various clips and braids, had settled across her face prompting him to tuck it aside. It took all he had not to kiss her, the temptation, the image, surging an internal chuckle as he pictured the storybook fairytale of Sleeping Beauty being kissed awake by her Prince Charming, and he judged himself as having grandiose notions of himself – _but surely not of the power of their love._

One of her medical journals lay across her chest, dropped when sleep had overtaken her. William picked it up, glancing to see that it was in French. Realizing the challenges she would have encountered reading such a scholarly article, in an unmastered language, he lifted an eyebrow, impressed. It was about Cesarean sections, he noted, his eyes settling on her greatly enlarged belly. " _Truly a miracle, in so many ways,_ " he marveled.

He let his mind imagine it, their tiny baby safe and sound, nestled inside her womb. He had always pictured it as a boy, as he did now, but he quickly reminded himself that he would be equally happy with a girl. " _Perhaps it was because of his "seeing the future" a few years ago – 1899 to be exact. In that "future 1912," he and Julia had had an eight-year old boy. Such a child would have to have been born in 1904 – this year._ _Although,_ _ **this**_ _child's due date was in 1905 rather than 1904,_ he nitpicked with his own premonition, lifting a judgmental eyebrow at himself.

He retrieved a blanket and covered her, pleased she had managed to remain asleep. Hungry, he headed for the kitchen, article in hand. His mind drifted to science, a common occurrence before the stirring of an idea for an invention. " _If you could see through her skin you could tell if the baby was a boy or a girl,_ " it started, _"Of course, there's water all around the baby…"_ Suddenly flashes of memory appeared, of using his soundwave echo devise to "hear" the location of a ship on the seafloor below them. They had been searching for gold that had sunken with a Canadian ship bound for America to illegally aid the Confederate Army– on the same case in which Julia had devised Graveson's method of assassinating folks by stabbing them during a handshake, he noted excitedly.

He flicked on the light-switch in the kitchen, thinking, " _Could a similar method be used to "see" a baby inside its mother's womb?_ "

His eyes caught on the vase full of yellow roses, the same flowers he had sent this morning. " _How could so much happen in a day?_ " he wondered to himself with the sight. Less than 24 hours ago they were fighting, devastatingly – she even slapped him…

Just this afternoon at lunch, she sat in that very chair there, and he fell before her onto his knees, terrified she no longer loved him, unable to bear the thought of living without her. William reached up and rubbed his brow, took a deep breath. He would never keep a secret from her again, of that he was certain. It was pointless anyway, as she had been quick to point out this afternoon, making note of his many failed attempts at deception. She had specifically called him out for the time he had tried to save the world by jumping out of a hot air balloon, ultimately flying back to Earth wearing some winged flying-suit, and then climbing down an eighty-foot-long shaft of a rocket aimed at New York City to disarm it. She had teased that this was just the most elaborate of his many debacled secret keeping ventures. At least that time his keeping a secret from her had not resulted in an explosive argument.

It must have been the thought of arguing with her that brought it to the forefront of his mind. His knuckles felt it first, then his heart, as his memory of their huge fight, after he had punched Darcy, came into focus. William exhaled, needing to lower his stress. That was the first time they had talked things through after a big quarrel, spending the night together in the reclining chair in his office. A smile slipped onto his face, his mind so quick, now thinking of Julia's sexy dream about making love with him the next morning. " _The man of her dreams – still_ ," he beamed, unconsciously puffing his chest out with male pride.

" _Now, something to eat_ ," he told himself.

) (

A little while later, Julia took her turn at admiring her lover unnoticed, as she leaned, in silence, against the doorframe at the entrance into the kitchen. She watched as he ate, his nose buried in her medical journal. She wondered, whether it was his good heart, or his amazing brain, " _or could it be that handsome face and gorgeous body_ ," she thought, teasing herself into a smile, that most made her fall head over heels in love with this man.

"Now tell me Mr. Murdoch," Julia asked, her voice playful and mischievous from the other side of the room, "Do you know what it is you are reading?"

Breathtaking, his chocolate-brown eyes, magnetic, she felt their impact as he looked up to see her across the room, the force of their connection invisibly rippling her world. He would return her banter, those same eyes twinkling with cockiness.

"Yes, I do," William replied, "I believe it describes how my child… pardon me, _our_ child, will be brought into the world."

Julia smiled and nodded, noting to herself that what most impressed her was that he wanted to read such a thing in the first place.

A sauciness in his voice he asked, "Now tell me, Mrs. Murdoch, does the fact that it is written _in French_ explain the reason you _fell asleep_ while reading it?"

"I was getting the gist," she responded to his poking, feigning insult. She pushed away from the doorframe. "But," she gave, "perhaps you can help me interpret it later," quite looking forward to it for his speaking French always riled her romantic side. She stepped closer, eyes down on his plate. Her hands lifted to her hips. "Now, I do believe my husband has picked up some _**hobo**_ _**habits**_ from his latest case – Are you eating your dinner _cold_ , detective?" she nudged.

He wrinkled a corner of his mouth, not able to deny it, his leftover beef stew freezing cold, self-served as it was, directly out of the icebox. Julia took his plate and scraped his remaining meal into a pan on the stovetop.

Knowing she shouldn't, after having had reminded herself multiple times that they couldn't even make love with Plan C these days, Julia found herself totally enamored with her husband. She flirted with him mercilessly, noticing however, that for his part, he did not put up much of a fight. She stroked his beautiful black hair, slid her hands down his neck, and then leaned down to kiss and nibble his warm delicious flesh. However, it was he who pushed his chair away from the table, invited her onto his lap. And then, _Oh, the tie – My God, she so loved the tie, sometimes falling overboard in love with his tie!_ Pangs and torrents of desire, longing, to touch it, to loosen it, to untie it, flooded through her. She chuckled, reacting to a flash of memory, of him wearing _only_ his black tie, naked as a jaybird besides, gorgeous and hunky of course, trying to recreate a dream she had had, but still, she had found the picture of him dressed so to be hysterical.

"Detective," her scratchy, aroused, voice followed her giggle, "Is this the _**dream tie**_?" she queried, prompting a provocative smile from him. His lips settled against her neck, muffling his somewhat devilish chuckle.

His chord-striking voice barely above a whisper in her ear, he then nonchalantly stated, "Mrs. Murdoch, I do believe you are burning my dinner," rousing her lust more so than her worry – at first…

Feeling the double-pronged bolt surge through her, she quieted herself and remained in his lap – momentarily. "It will just be a bit toasty, is all," she replied minimizing the problem, then giving him a peck on the cheek and leaning forward to receive a gentle push to help her stand. She would go to save his dinner. She removed the pan from the flame, and then stirred the partially blackened stew.

The idea coming to him as the familiar smell tingled his memories, he commented slyly, "Much like your toast, I suppose." Laughing, William quickly ducked, anticipating her inevitable response, as she flung the dishtowel at him, for they both knew that Julia had an unfortunate tendency to burn the toast. All in good fun, they felt terribly happy.

She sat with him while he finished eating, and he told her about some of the things he had seen on his trip into the jungle, her husband waxing philosophical…

"Meat like this," William explained pushing the beef on his plate about with his fork, "It takes the life-spirit out of so many people. Abused by bosses, and the law, and immense poverty – each step along the line someone trying to milk you for as much money as possible, trying to gain some advantage whenever possible. The animals are mistreated. The food is dangerously handled. People get sick and die… and there is no way to know if this particular piece of meat is safe," he elaborated, holding up a fork-pierced chunk of beef. He went on, "But one thing is guaranteed – it got here as a result of much animal and human suffering… honestly, much more so than I think you could ever imagine."

Truth be told, it made William question how God could allow such treatment – such injustice. All so someone like Jonathan Armour could make as much money as possible. As Julia listened, she felt grateful for their intimacy, his letting down his guard, his sharing, and his trust in her for _not_ judging, especially when it came to anyone's, but especially _**his**_ , questioning of God.

"William," she said, her voice warm, conveying a wisdom and compassion he had come to treasure, "I asked Father Clemens the same question, when I went to him about having our wedding in the Catholic Church." His eyes grew wide, opening to her, loving her deeply. "He helped me see that God is not responsible – people are." Julia's gaze shifted as she searched for the memory. "God grants us life, he said. But, what we do with that life is up to each of us," she remembered. Her luminous celestial-blue eyes found him, "We are responsible for what we choose to do," she said, then abruptly dropping her eyes away again and shaking her head. She explained, "Such a marvel, you see… I had always thought Catholicism, with its Confession, and saying of the rosary, and various saints with all their specialties… well…" Julia's eyes shown so profoundly into his with her deep glance, becoming fused, transfixed. "I had always thought such zealous faith would foster… an indifference, with no real consequence for wrongs, just confess and all is forgiven," she said, her voice verging on squeaking as her hand flipped through the air to demonstrate the flimsiness she described. She reached out and took his hand, "But now I see. It's not that simple, there is responsibility – to others…"

William nodded, his eyes glued to hers.

"To yourself," she continued.

He nodded again.

"And to God," she finished, basking in his smile, knowing he knew she had seen it. Julia was still unsure she could ever wholly believe in God, certainly not as William did, but her views had grown from knowing him, for the better she believed, and it brought her joy to be able to share her growth, her changing, with him.

) (

Drying himself after his luscious, warm shower, he noted that the bottle of medicated soap he was using to treat the lice he had picked up out in the jungle seemed less full than it should be. He speculated that Julia, too, had used some. " _Wise, of course, to help prevent the spread,_ " he thought. He found a fresh set of pajamas in his drawer, noting the comfy feel of them as they softly covered his clean skin. His eyes fell to their bed, where he noted, he had not yet slept since his return. " _Tonight, finally,_ " he thought gratefully. Seeking his slippers, he opened the closet and checked the floor. " _Hmm_ ," he wondered, " _No slippers_?"

Barefooted and bare-skinned beneath his pajamas, William walked into the living room to find Julia reading her French medical journal once more. Planning to read and interpret it to her, he took her hand and helped her off the couch and then sat in his reclining chair and brought her, first onto his lap, and then slid her hips into the little crook of space next to his, leaving her long legs draped over his lap. He reached down and used the handle to tilt them back. Heaven, together here, her head resting on his chest – all was right with the world.

He took up the journal, preparing to read, but instead asked, shrewdly, his eyes on the text, "Julia, where are my slippers…" _Oh, how exquisite the feeling of her body tensing, reacting to his question, against his._ William cleared his throat, held back his smile, adding, "And my hat?"

Her next move did not surprise him, for his wife often used seduction to distract him. Her hand rubbed, stroked, admired, the ripply muscles of his chest, circled and pinched at one of his nipples through the cloth of his pajamas, as her breath flowed over the tender skin of his neck before her mouth took him in. The sensations truly unbearable in their allure, William resisted the urge to moan, although he did find he needed to swallow to hide the sound of his weakness before he said, with his tone one of warning, "Julia…"

He felt her stretch up to bring her lips to his ear, choosing to nibble before she spoke. _Oh, my God_ , her fingers pinched at his top button, popped it open so that he felt the cold air touch his chest. Against his commands, his breath caught, when she did the same to the next button. " _Julia_ ," his own voice in his head sang for her…

Her fingers took the third button as she simply asked, "Yes?"

Wild, lustful yearnings erupted in his groin. He rolled her over, pinning her in the tiny space next to him in the chair. Passionately, rough and hungry, he took her in a kiss, his mouth massaged hers rhythmically, enticing it to open to him, to yield, to take in his surge, his velvety tongue crossing the boundary between them, his every cell reveling in her muffled moan.

Julia's womb coiled so deliciously with his kiss. " _My God this man can kiss,_ " her thought twirled and spun in her head as she grew dizzy in love with him. _But… Darn_! She knew she needed to stop him, for their baby. Fighting uphill against the gale forces of her desire for him, she pushed through the harrowing winds and secured her hand on his shoulder, pushed against him, pushed him away, gently closed her mouth to him, turned her head away from his… _Oh, they were so delicious though…his li_ ps.

Her bosom heaving up and down out of the periphery of his vision, _beautiful, so beautiful_ , he thought…

Her voice breathy with lust, she said, "No kissing," trying so hard not to laugh at the amazing contradictions she felt with the rule. It made her happy to the core, his disappointment, his collapse as he accepted it, his head dropping into the back of the chair, his beautiful face next to hers.

He took one of her curls in his fingers, twirled it and played with it. His glistening eyes danced here and there across her face and he said, "Of course, you're right," and then he wrinkled his face in delightful apology, melting her down to each and every atom in her body. In an effort to fight off his manly desires, he engaged his brain, asked himself what they had been talking about before he had lost control. Upon remembering, his expression changed, the mischievous troublemaker back.

"I do believe you were explaining what happened to my slippers… and more importantly, to my hat," he taunted.

Her big, bright blue eyes glanced up to meet his. Her fingers slipped under his unbuttoned pajama top, squeezed and glided over the muscles of his chest, then slipped lower, discovering those on his stomach. "Well, we both know I have a temper" she wrinkled a corner of mouth making him laugh.

He grounded temporarily, returned her gaze, now out of the side of his eye. "Yes, yes we do," he agreed with a nod. He jabbed, "And we both know that, even though it is _you_ who declared there would be no kissing, it was also _you_ who initiated… just that."

Her eyes narrowed in threat as she charged, "Detective, you daren't say you didn't like it." Her voice rising into a little squeak, catching his notice.

William smiled, continuing his line of questioning for he would not be deterred, he argued, "Oh, I quite liked it doctor, but I feel it is a distraction designed to deflect my questions about my hat."

Julia swallowed, fighting down both fear and lust. "Perhaps," she acquiesced.

Staying in his role, William huffed, playing at being gruff. He said, while growing closer, a devastating kiss imminent, his fingers caressing her chin, along her jaw, tracing her ear, "So you were angry at me and wanted to hurt me, and you took it out on my innocent hat, figuring it was the best way to get at me." He tilted his head, his lips touched…

Julia pulled back, insisting firmly, "No kissing detective…"

 _Oh, but then_ she reached down to lift the smooth, silky fabric of her nightgown and robe, wrinkling it up higher and higher over her thigh, smiling with glee as she saw him catching a glimpse of her exquisite, long, curvy legs. She shifted her weight, took his hand and put it on her hips, asking for him to help, as she slid up to come and straddle him.

William's eyes delved into her bosom, the jiggly curves of her cleavage peeking out from the edges of her loosely tied robe and low cut nightgown. She felt his hands, big and strong take hold of her back.

She lowered her head, tucking it in closer to him. "Detective, your slippers, they just got a little _wet…"_ her lips grazed his ear. Her scent enveloped him. She kissed his ear, then a little nip with her teeth. She continued her explanation, "just a little wet is all – they're in the laundry room drying out…"

William clung to control, but his voice betrayed his wavering state as he asked the more significant question, "And my hat?" as she took his head in both hands and lifted his face.

Julia's lips, their enticing kisses, traveled along his stubbly jawline on route to his lips, teasing and jolting him randomly with a sharp nibble of her teeth. She was so close now, nearly there. He felt himself rising underneath her. She surely noticed, growing heavier against him, her breathing matching his, blasting, intense and rushed. Before she would take his mouth, he uttered, "Doctor… that is my lucky hat," he pressured. With all his might he made himself stop her advances, taking hold of her eyes with his.

Exhaling, giving herself time, defusing her own internal volcano, Julia smiled at him. "Now detective, a man of reason and logic like yourself certainly does not believe in any such thing as a _**lucky**_ hat," she returned the play, her lips, her warm breath, then glancing his cheek, reigniting him, her fingers sliding into his hair, scratching behind his ear. She felt him growing lustful under her, destroying her resolve. He wanted her, undeniably longed for her, reached for her. She wished with all her might he would take what he wanted. "William," she whispered, and then kissed him, softly, moving her lips over his. Deliciously, his lips folded and bent under hers, so supple and pliable, yielding… Such sweet softness, his tongue was right there. She pushed in.

William responded, pressing upward into her mightily, provoking a moan from her. William broke off the kiss, ducked his head down and tucked his face in her neck, his hands slid up her side, riding along her ribs, his thumbs up the curves of her bosom. He took a slow deep breath marveling in, cherishing, her scent, then grasped a firm hold of her, lifting her to him, and he fell and buried his face in her bosom, kissing and sucking on the malleable, marshmallowy soft, warm flesh, crushing her with want.

Coming up for air, he pushed her back, stilled his hands on her. "Now doctor," he said, out of breath, "Was it not you who declared kissing out of bounds, hmm?"

Julia's pout melted him even more. She leaned back, increasing the space between them and said, "It was," she admitted.

"Good," he said, now more resolved, in control again. He wrapped his arms around her, as best as he could for she was quite large with child, and added, "Now, as for my lucky hat and its conflicting with my logical mind, I will remind you that I also, unreasonably, believe in God…"

"Yes, you are quite the enigma – a puzzle beyond words, I would say," she interrupted.

He raised an eyebrow at her, signaling the moment of truth had come, and said, "Doctor… my hat?"

Julia told him that immediately after she received Ettie's phone call from Winnipeg, after that, knowing he had kept his intentions to stay with his past lover a secret from her, she was crazed with anger, and hurt, and also terrified that he was lost, and maybe dead. She had been overcome at one point with a wave of fury, and in a temper-filled rage she had taken his hat from its spot hanging above his coat, and she had, while at the time wearing his slippers… for hers were too tight to fit over the injury she had incurred stepping on the broken locket…

 _Clearly, another story to be told there, he had thought…_

And she had taken his hat out into the pouring, freezing cold, rain, and walked in his slippers to the garbage pails out at the front gate, and tossed it away in the recently emptied trash, to let it sink into the stinking puddles at the bottom of the can. Later, she had calmed down and gone out to retrieve it. He should not fret, she had pleaded. His hat was at the millinery to be cleaned. It would be back and good as new, she was sure, probably by tomorrow.

"Good," he accepted. He held her tightly close to him and rolled her to the side bringing her to lie next to him so she could rest her head on his shoulder. They quieted there for a time. After a deep, contented breath, William told her, "I have longed to be here with you in my arms like this Julia, for so long," his lovely voice said, his chest vibrating deep into her soul.

"Home," she concluded.

Not much later he had fallen asleep. She lay with him in there as he slept, toasty, breathing deeply, reclining with him in his chair, happy to the core. Their baby kicked between them, rousing its father.

Sleepy, he asked, half whispering and half speaking, "Was that the baby?"

Rambunctious baby since she so worried.

"Mm," she answered, "Seems our little one just welcomed you home too, Daddy." She guided his hand to her belly and they stayed quiet for a moment. Only a month now, their thoughts planned and worried and dreamed. There was a strong bump, Julia suggesting it was a kick. She explained that the baby had been terribly rambunctious lately. She had wondered if somehow her stress after Ettie's call had been the cause. Now she thought now, for she felt much calmer, much more resolved, and yet, the little one remained restless. She reassured him she thought everything was fine, that she would stop in to see Isaac after they returned from Ieva's burial tomorrow.

He offered his usual response, "Good," with a smile.

"Now then, detective," Julia whispered, "I think we should get you up to bed," and pushed away from her favorite headrest in all the land, preparing to get up.

With her hips nestled between him and the arm of the chair and her legs up over his lap, her efforts to lift herself up off of him tended to the dramatic, resulting in her flopping about trying to get out of the chair, intensifying her efforts greatly, all manner of which seemed wholly doomed for failure. William opened one eye and lifted his eyebrow to tease, earning himself a light smack in the chest.

"I thought it was you husbands who were supposed to be the ones to provide for us pregnant women's survival, and yet you sit there idle, watching, enjoying my struggling as would a turtle stuck on its back?" she chided and harped.

"I must admit, milady," his tone suggesting continued torture, "I feel conflicted, wanting to help, for I am largely responsible for your state, and yet… I find myself envisioning my lucky hat at the bott…"

Another playful smack and the annoyed label, "Men!" as she shook her head and then roused her level of rocking and clutching and wallowing with effort once more. Although she would not admit it, she melted enjoyed with the sound of his patronizing chuckle, and gloried in his strength as he pulled her up on his lap, brought them both forward and he reached for the handle to upright the reclining chair, and then stood, albeit with a groan, with his very pregnant wife in his arms. She was about to tease him about getting old due to his grunting…

When his lips found her ear and he whispered, "There, crisis averted, turtle saved," and her feet floated safely down, touching the floor softly.

And all she wanted in the world was to kiss him, and their eyes darted and skipped across each other's faces, flickering so beautifully in the dim light…

) (

Up in their bedroom, she sat at her vanity to let down and brush her hair while he brushed his teeth. Watching him in her vanity mirror as he stepped out of the bathroom and began to re-button his pajama top, her insides sparked. "William," she called to him, catching his warm brown eyes in the reflection, "As your sleeping partner…" she said, turning around, her eyes, her look, stunning.

He felt the familiar stirring.

She stood and approached him, never letting go of his gaze. "I believe you are buttoning in the wrong direction, husband," she said, now standing before him. She took his hands, brought them down to his sides, stopping him from buttoning the second to last button. Then she took hold of it and popped it open, slipped her fingers lower, to the next one, popping it open as well, as she whispered, "You should be moving down William, not up." Only one more button to go, she reached it, touched it, it yielded. Her exhale so hot against his naked skin, her fingers grasped the string to his pajama bottoms.

Immediately, his pajama bottoms felt the jolt alerting him to the impending danger, warning that he had best act now, that he needed to step back from the flame, lest the temptation grow too great. Managing it, he captured her hands. There was a mesmerizing, delectable weakness in his eyes as he said, voice dried from lustful breathing, "I don't think that's a good idea, Julia."

She paused in her advances, confident she could persuade him. A thought to tease him about his stuffiness disappeared, almost immediately replaced by another which challenged her, stopped her, the feelings of doubt and regret hitting with it possibly being triggered by the worried look in his beautiful, chocolate eyes. She stepped back, dropped her eyes away, embarrassed. Words rushed out of her, flooded and cascaded between them.

Rapidly she declared, "I'm sorry William," starting her confession, her apology. "I… I realize… I'm so," her eyes jolted up to his, "I'm having trouble," she giggled and blushed, "I am crazed…" her eyes gone again with a shrug, "I'm sorry, it's just that I want you…" _pow, her look landed hard_ , "…so badly. And I know I keep giving you ' _come hither_ ' signals…" She tipped her head to the side, judging, admitting, and added, "quite demanding come hither signals…" She had to fight the urge to laugh when he nodded solidly in agreement. She swallowed and pushed on with her apology, "And then I, um, I give you the 'go yonder' signal…"

Her eyes pleaded with him to understand, as she explained further, "Of course, I have to because we can't. I know we can't. But, my God I _so_ want to." She stepped in closer to him and said, "And I know I'm driving you crazy William… and it must be so hard…" She paused, waiting for his response.

All he managed to say was, "Hard… Yes." Then he simply stared, waiting for more.

Julia nodded and said, "I think it's because we had such a very big fight, William," her expression asking him to be with her, inspiring him to nod as well, agreeing, for it had been a difficult argument indeed, requiring facing dire potential consequences along the way.

Julia took his hand, her fingers circling and sliding over his wedding ring. William stepped closer to her, the intimacy exponentially rising as a factor of their gravity and the decreasing distance. Her voice so quiet now, she confided, "And we're not able to completely makeup…" Her smile warmed him, and she went on, with a little shrug, as her eyes dropped down to dwell on his exposed, and truly lovely, chest. "At least not in the way we are used to, in the way we know works to bring us as close as we both need…" her blue eyes back melding with his, she concluded, "And I think that's why. And I know I've been driving you crazy, testing your self-control, and I'm so grateful William, because I know you'd never let go, that you are so… strong, and that you would always stop… us, to keep our baby safe, and I'm sorry William. I truly am."

Truth be told, he couldn't have admired her more. She was brilliant, and once again amazed him. And he loved her so his heart ached. He cupped her cheek, kissed her soft and tenderly. "Sounds wise," he concluded. His fingers took a curl. He wrinkled a corner of his mouth at her and said, "You were brushing your hair."

She giggled, "Yes, yes I was," she agreed, with a nod and they separated. As she sat and pulled out a pin, her hair cascading down, her eyes found him in the mirror again. She watched him, noticed him looking a bit embarrassed, and suddenly dropping his chin to the ground. _Perhaps he was still feeling his manly urges_ , she wondered.

He turned and went to turn down the bed. "Did you lock everything up?" she asked, brushing and flipping her hair about.

"Mm, before I showered," he answered. He began to re-button his top and he asked, his faced twisted with puzzlement, "Why… why were you wearing my slippers?"

 _So rapidly her mind made each leap, from remembering the cut on the bottom of her foot, and needing bigger slippers because of it. Then to the sharp pain she felt as she stepped on the broken clasp of her half of the locket in the dark, after she had thrown it in anger across their pitch-black bedroom, and William's half had ricocheted off somewhere, unable to be found. Next jumping to finding that Eloise had placed his half next to her half on the vanity. Then she remembered tucking the broken pieces in the pocket of her robe – to finally remembering that now that same robe was down in the laundry cupboard with the dirty clothes – all culminating in the thought that_ _ **William**_ _would be the one, that_ _ **he**_ _would be able to fix it!_

"Oh William," she exclaimed, "You can fix it, I know you can!"

Confused he asked, "Fix what?"

"The locket," she replied, jumping up, rushing to the door. She opened it and just before she hurried down the stairs she explained, "I broke the locket, but you… you can fix it. I'll go get it," leaving him with his eyebrow up, wondering how that had anything to do with his slippers, no choice but to wait.

) (

Barefoot in the dark, only the moonlight shining through the windows on the front, south-facing side of the house, Julia clasped the treasured but broken locket in her hand as she made her way back to the stairs. The cracking, then crinkling sound immediately associating with that of glass breaking, gasped her breath and halted her motion before she had even identified it as a sound, as out of the ordinary, as signifying danger. Her heart raced in her chest as she turned to see what had caused it, glimpsing the booted-foot of a man crawling into the house through their newly broken living room window. Absolute terror threatened to freeze her in the spot.

Darts, images, ideas, all too fast to react to, of screaming, of grabbing a lamp and attacking him, of running up to…

Then she was just there, in their bedroom, breathless, eyes wide with fear. William, who had gotten into bed, now stood next to her, his speed spurred by the look of her, his eyes so intense, so focused.

"There's a man!" she whispered her horror, "Crawling in the window, William," she squeaked.

The strength in his eyes calmed her. She marveled at the control in his voice. "Did he see you?" he asked.

She shook her head, "No," she answered straightaway.

Not a moment to spare, he turned out the light and took her to the far corner of their bedroom and opened the secret passageway. They both stepped inside. It was narrow, terribly dark. She found she felt particularly claustrophobic with the baby inside of her, her hand instinctively covering her belly protectively.

"Stay here," his whispered order came. Despite the darkness, she knew his imploring expression. She nodded. She would do whatever he said. His finger found her lips, barely audible his voice in her ear, "Sh." Then she felt him go. She was alone. He would risk his life. He would sneak through the secret passageways and try to come up behind whoever it was…

And then her mind flew away with her. " _What if it was Mulligan's men?! There would be lots of them! He would be killed! William?_ " Her panic threatened to dizzy her, giving her hiding spot away. She steadied herself – listened in the darkness with all her might.

A gasp – she heard the doorknob turn!

Her own breathing so loud! " _Shh,_ " she warned herself, " _You must breathe, but slowly, quiet_ …."

The time interminable, but then the loud " _ **whack**_!" and then crashes, and grunts, and furniture being knocked into. _She would not stay here like a little mouse and let William be hurt or killed!_

Julia burst out of the hidden doorway and grabbed for the lamp on the night table.

She heard his voice, her name…

"Julia!" he alerted, "It's alright." The sound came from the floor, over by the bathroom. _He said it was all right – all right_. She clicked the lamp on to see William on top of a man on the floor. His lip was bleeding. He was breathing heavily. He sat straddled over the man who lay chest down under him, William holding the man's hands behind his back.

"Get the handcuffs out of my bag in the closet," William ordered.

As soon as she started to move, the man on the floor rallied, getting himself pummeled with a strong right fist in the back of the head by her husband. "Blast it, Graveson!" William yelled, "You crazy lunatic, if she loses that baby I swear to you I'll take my badge off and beat you silly," he threatened through gritted teeth.

In a near frenzy, Julia found his bag on the closet floor. She coached herself to slow down, heard William's reassuring voice in her head again, " _It's alright._ " Realizing she was still grasping the broken locket, she put it down there on the floor next to his bag and then opened it and fished around, searching for the handcuffs.

They both breathed easier once the handcuffs clicked into place. William stood up, unconsciously reaching up to wipe the blood on his lip. Then he bent over, and rolled the man over and pulled him to sit up by his collar, then shoving the man's back and shoulders into the foot of the bed.

The adrenalin still surged inside of him, powering his question. He firmly held the man's collar, pulled his body up to glare directly in his face, and asked, "Why still try to kill me anyway…" then tossing the man back towards the foot of the bed again, adding, "I'm no threat to Armour anymore." William wiped his lip again, this time checking to see the blood that came off on the back of hand. Then he felt the pain from his punches, shaking his hand as if to fling it away.

Julia questioned if she had heard him right. "Armour, Jonathan Armour?" she asked.

Both men turned to look at her, her sexy, revealing state of dress still consciously unawares to all involved. The sight of her lowered William's intensity, prompting him to take a deep breath. As the calmness settled in, he felt the familiar excruciating heaviness, the crushing pain that comes with recovering from sheer fear. Taking one more breath to ensure his voice did not betray his strain, he answered her, "Yes. Dr. Julia Ogden meet…" William opened a hand to gesture towards the man he had apprehended down on the floor, "Mr. Graveson, hired killer of the all-mighty meat monger Jonathan _Ogden_ Armour," accentuating the 'Ogden' part of his name.

Her mouth agape, she worried, "Hired to kill you!? Why!?"

William exhaled and said, "It's a long story…"

) (

Sometime later, William stood next to the handcuffed Graveson in the foyer, listening in as Julia as she spoke on the phone to her cousin in the United States. He marveled at her strength, confidence, and to be honest, fury… noticing that her voice was far from squeaky, rather it barreled, deep and burly, reminding him of the Inspector… a little.

"Jonathon Ogden," she steamed, "you call him _off_ of my husband or I swear to God…" her teeth gritted changing her sound, "I'm calling Aunt Malvina and I'll get on the first train to Chicago and pull your skinny little legs off of you just like _you_ did to those spiders!" she bellowed.

William twitched, imperceptibly he thought, the experience of watching her now triggering his remembering of her yelling so fiercely at him in the kitchen after she had found the condom in his pocket.

Julia ushered Graveson to take the phone. William held it to his mouth and ear for him because his hands were cuffed behind his back.

Julia huffed, her hands parked authoritatively on her hips, next to William. Armour's voice, the words indecipherable themselves, could be heard in the phone. Graveson, being a man of few words, said little as they listened to his end of the conversation.

"Codman?" he asked, looking directly at William.

He seemed to glare, saying dismissively, "Murdoch, Codman whatever…"

Graveson's eyes turned away and Armour's loud, angry voice could be hear shouting on the other end of the line. His tone one of disappointment and grasping for straws, he asked, "Should I _hurt_ him then, sir?"

Armour's voice responded with such volume that William and Julia could hear what he replied, " _ **No, Goshdarnit! Off! I mean off!...**_ " before it muffled back into being indistinct.

Revealing his tenaciousness, what Clegg had referred to as his 'one-track mind,' Graveson pushed for at least something, asking, "Anyone you want killed in Toronto, boss?"

Loud shouting cold be heard some more… followed by more subdued instructions.

"You mean 'Sin,' sir?" Graveson asked.

The mention of Sin's name surged alarms in William. The man is a simple author. He would stand no chance against a crazed assassin like Graveson! Worry overcame William's face.

Julia noticed William's reaction. She had thought she recognized the name… thought George had said it at the kitchen table. " _Sinclair_ ," her memory offered up.

Graveson told them that Armour wanted to talk to Detective Murdoch and he stepped back to let William use the phone himself. William pinned his eyes on the killer, his threatening message clear. Every moment while William was on the phone with Armour he kept his eyes burrowed into Graveson's. He so wished Julia were farther away, far from Graveson's reach. He stepped more deliberately between them as he spoke.

Armour wanted William to let Graveson go, promising him that the man no longer represented a threat to him or his family. Concerned for Sin, William was reluctant to agree. Armour threatened trouble between the United States and Canada if Graveson were to be charged with anything, and William knew in his bones that Clegg and Meyers would never let such an arrest stand anyway. His sigh announced his bitter acceptance of his lack of choice. He hung up the phone.

Speaking to Julia, but still eying Graveson, William told them both that Armour wanted him to let Graveson go. Then he lied and said to Graveson, "Armour said if I didn't tell you all I knew about where Sin is, he would accuse Canada of sabotaging his business." William wrinkled a corner of his mouth, striving to be convincing, appearing to be admitting his defeat in the matter, and sighed. Knowing he had to embed his deceit in truths, William offered, "Sin was really a socialist, and he knew the Americans were hunting for him, so he rode up to Winnipeg, said he was going to take refuge in Canada… Last I heard, he thought it was safest out west, away from big cities. Somewhere in Alberta, that's probably where he went. I never knew his real name, but I figure it would be a famous sinner, maybe Peter or Paul," he concluded, again wrinkling his face, this time his fake _admission face_ being to suggest his doubt.

He walked Graveson to the door, took him outside and closed the door behind them, thinking to protect Julia from the man. Just before he unlocked the handcuffs he warned, "Make sure Armour knows I did my part." Getting no response from the man, he grabbed his collar and put his face in Graveson's – snarling at him. "Agreed?" he growled, receiving his acquiescing nod, and then shoving the man backwards a step. He undid the handcuffs and watched as Graveson hurried away down their front path and then disappeared from the dim streetlights in the distance.

Nervously, Julia had waited in the foyer for him to return. William stepped back into the warmth, closed and locked the door behind him, his back to her. His mind was on planning how to best keep them safe. _He would need to board up the broken window to secure their home…_ He turned around to see her and wrinkled his face, the familiar gesture endearing her deeply.

But guilt stirred within her, and she knew it was not her husband who needed to apologize now, it was her. "William," she said, blowing out a strong breath, letting him know she was feeling pressured.

His mind raced, trying to ascertain what was bothering her…

"I have to admit, I guess," she said walking up to him, feeling the cold coming off him from being outside. "It seems I was keeping a secret of my own," she said, anticipating his raised eyebrow, now standing in front of him. "Sorry," she gave with a slight cringe. She went on to explain, "I… uh, I didn't think you would _want_ to know… what you married into." Her eyes looked to him, waiting.

"Mm," he said. He wondered if she saw it, the similarities between her motive for secrecy and his. He found his curiosity caused him to wait. He felt a tickle, a sparkle, with her frown.

"It was wrong, of course," she confessed.

"Mm," he said, but he still waited for more. Hushed violins began to play in his mind as her voice took on its customary squeak and her words rushed forward. He did so love this woman, his heart burned with the swelling of it.

 _Could she possibly explain it all?_ She had to try. "It has caused such stress for us in the past, William, our…" she found even naming it pounded her heart with worry and dread, "class differences."

William's jaw tightened, and they both knew she was right. This conversation had never been easy between them.

"And I… Jonathan Armour, William!" her squeak rose, "He's awful. I just thought it would upset you to know _you_ were related to such a man now, because of me, because you decided to marry me. And I saw no reason you would need to know…" Julia paused considering whether to divulge this, swallowed with her decision to do so, acknowledging to herself that it was the keeping things from each other that had gotten them into so much trouble. "At least, not once I was certain he would not be coming to our wedding," she added.

Out of his control momentarily, William's jaw dropped open with the shock of the thought of one of the wealthiest and most powerful and abusive men in the United States coming to _his_ wedding. "Uh… I, uh…" Fortunately, Julia went on before he had to find actual words to say.

"I wanted to tell you so many times. And something always stopped me – like remembering some of our… fights about servants and you saying you felt you would never fit in… into my world. You said you were like that young boy Pip, who had been killed and I deduced he wasn't as wealthy as his clothing suggested…"

"Because he had Ricketts," William finished her thought, guaranteeing she knew he was with her.

"It really broke my heart William, when you said to me during a rather large argument, with such a… wrenching and forlorn look in your eyes, that _the clothes still don't fit the boy_ , using my own words to show it to me, that I had expectations of you, and you wouldn't meet them," she said, emotions storming. "My God William, you meet every wish, every hope, I've ever had for a man," she rushed, her eyes filling with tears now. "I don't want you to be…" her head shook, with such certainty, "anything like Jonathan Armour, William. And I thought if I told you, it would intimidate you, or you would feel… lesser somehow, like you couldn't fit in, and couldn't make me happy, and I knew that wasn't true, and I…"

He smiled, sincere and gentle. Wiping a tear with his thumb, holding her face tenderly, he leaned close, his whisper drawing her to him even more, "You didn't tell me because you wanted to save me from all that."

She nodded, her face beginning to wrinkle as her crying grew stronger.

William took a deep breath, held her eyes, implicitly waiting for her to follow his lead, to see everything was going to be all right.

"I know I should have told you," she nodded again.

"Yes," he agreed, "You should have…"

So quickly, for she needed to know, "Are you angry with me for it?" she asked.

His smile soothed her to the core. "I am not," he replied. _However, he reminded himself that there had been consequences of his not being aware of his new cousin, and they were working on being truthful, and that included not having relevant omissions, as he had found out the hard way with Ettie. He would need to tell her about being shamed by Meyers, and even Ettie, not to mention Mulligan, because they saw him somehow more a toff himself because he had such a cousin. And, of course there was the little matter of his almost being killed by the man and his body disposed of in the Christmas hams, and his own fears of having been guilty of murdering his own cousin, sure prison and the noose would be unavoidable if that were the case._

He braved it, promising himself he would share the details with her later, he divulged, "Though, not knowing did cause some… turmoil, some discomfort," he admitted, believing solidly that transparency was necessary.

"Julia," he said, his tone suggesting a raising of their spirits, "I know your intentions were good… As I believe you, too, know mine were when I withheld my plans to stay with Ettie from you…" he hesitated, wanting to be certain he was right about this, nodding back to her after she indicated so. Using a soft kiss to remove a tear from her cheek, he took her arm and started towards the stairs.

Once they were up in their bedroom, the danger having passed, Julia noticed his weapon of choice on the floor. "William Murdoch," she declared, lifting the golf club into the air, "I thought you threw all of these in the pond!" A mischievous look took her face as she wallowed in his discomfort, reminding, "After I did so well at the game."

He took the club from her, forcing himself not to actually snatch it, as he wanted to. Embarrassed at his unreasonable behavior that day, childish to let such a thing upset him, to the point of throwing away perfectly good and expensive golf clubs, he could not look her in the eye. "I came to my senses," he explained sheepishly, needing to clear his throat to go on, "I saved one or two."

Finding him irresistible, she flung her arms around his neck and exclaimed, "I do so love you William Henry Murdoch," and she kissed him.

He wasn't sure what he had done to win such a woman, but he was beyond grateful for having done so. Joyfully, he kissed her back.

After returning the golf club to the back bedroom closet, William returned to their room to hear that she was in the bathroom brushing her teeth. He opened the closet door to return the handcuffs to his bag. There, he spied her broken locket on the floor. _He entertained visions of Julia having an enraged tantrum – flinging the cherished locket against the wall, or stomping on it in a fury, cutting her foot, possibly explaining her needing to wear his slippers._ Regret flooded through him, his actions had hurt her, there was no doubt. He studied the locket's clasp, its sharp metal attachment protruding outward, ripped and separated from its designated connection on the other half of the locket. Certain he could reconnect it, and quickly, he rushed down to his workroom in the basement.

He repaired the locket, soldering the joint to ensure the bond would hold. Next, he grabbed a hammer, some nails and a board, and headed up to repair the window Graveson had broken when he broke in. Entering the living room, his eyes met Julia's in the warm lamplight. Crouched down in front of the window, she was sweeping up the shards of glass. She smiled and ducked her eyes down to the floor, guiding him to his own slippers waiting there for him.

"To avoid any further injury, detective," she said, returning to her task.

William stepped into his comfy slippers, happy to be home. He helped her stand up and told her, "You always said we made a good team," sealing the sentiment with a quick kiss. He went to work closing up the broken window, hearing her head up the stairs a few moments later. His skin flared with the anticipation of finally slipping into bed next to his luscious wife, the response urging him not to dawdle. He darted down to his workroom, returning the hammer, collected the treasured locket and clicked off the light. In the living room, leaning over to turn off the lamp, William spotted the French medical journal on the table next to his recliner. Rejuvenated, he decided he would read it to her after all.

Upstairs he found that his lamp was on next to the bed. Tucked in, waiting for him, her head on his pillow she requested, "Come to bed, husband."

Heavenly, the soft support of the mattress under his weary body, the smooth sheets, but most of all the touch of her warm, malleable flesh cozying up to him. She lay her head on his chest and fiddled with his top button, convincing herself to leave it closed after their earlier discussion.

"I have something for you," William's note-perfect voice vibrated from under her and floated in the air sinking in and melding around her soul. Julia propped herself up on an elbow, her bright face meeting his, once again feeling the magnificent pull of his big brown eyes.

He held up his hand enclosing the prize, she opened hers under it. "The locket?" she asked just before the golden treasure dangled between them to be captured and cherished. "William, you fixed it," she declared.

She held the mended locket in her hand, rubbing the smooth, sleek metal with her thumb. She traced over the welded clasp, appreciating it. "It's better than it was," she nearly whispered, admiring it.

Propped up on his elbow as well, he reached over to stroke the locket in her hand, "The bond is stronger now," he said, knowing his words were meant for much more than the locket.

 _My God, she looked beautiful as she lifted her face to meet his_.

"Yes, it is William," she answered.

He watched as she opened it, revealing their two young faces side by side, then as she gently touched his picture, adoring it. Julia shifted, grunting as she moved, positioning herself up onto her knees and then resting her buttocks on her heels. She pulled her nightgown over her head and tossed it aside. "I want to wear only the locket, for tonight," she shared.

William's eyes dilated, opening wide to soak in as much of her scrumptious, curvy, delicious, body as possible, being ultimately lured, tugged, drawn to her large, pregnant belly. Julia took his hand and brought it to embrace their child safe inside of her. His breath rapid, deep and strong, so overwhelmed by the awe of it, powered a burning, intense love through her veins. She tucked her fingers behind his head, tangled and scratched into his hair, and pulled his face to her warm belly. His kisses so tender, precious, this remarkable woman, this impossible baby, this unforgettable moment.

He pushed back, held her eyes as he unbuttoned his top, then stood to completely undress. Now both naked, he returned to kneel with her, and she handed him the locket, which he draped over her head and lovingly nestled into her creamy, supple bosom. He helped her lie back down and then moaned, becoming besieged with pleasure as their skin touched, sultry and sweet, sliding along that of the other, and he joined her to lie wrapped with her, together, finally together.

After a while he said, "I brought the French medical journal… to read to you," in her ear, then smothering her with the delectable sounds of his butterfly kisses.

"You are so lovely to me William," she replied, "but tonight all I want is to sleep with you. You must be so very, very tired from it all, exhausted to the core from coping, dealing with… us, and the case… the jungle. We need nothing more, just sleep with me William."

William's voice warm, and relieved, and beginning to submit to drowsiness, surrounded her ear. "I suppose even the king of the jungle needs to sleep sometimes," he yielded.

"Yes, even the king," she replied, groaning quietly as she made the effort to lift up and reach across him to turn off the light. She settled back down in the darkness, her body covering him, her head resting in her favorite place in all the land, content on his bare chest.

William's breathing was deep, and slow, and cozy, rocking her with its waves… His whisper broke the silence as he said, "It seems this king can only truly sleep, only truly breathe, only truly be, when he is with his queen, only then can the jungle truly be his home."

))))) (((((


	17. Chapter 17: Epilugue

Chapter 16_Murdoch in the Jungle_Epilogue

As the older woman closed the gate behind her and started down the path towards the house, she spotted the boarded-up living-room window with a gasp. Instantly her mind flashed an image of seeing Dr. Ogden riled up into a fit of anger at the detective and throwing a knickknack of some sort through the closed window, shattering the glass. " _Now Eloise_ ," she lectured herself, " _you know the doctor has quite temper, but there's no point in jumping to conclusions so._ " She took a deep breath, working to lower her emotional reaction. She had come to greatly care for this dynamic, and in many ways, magical couple, but they were far from perfect, and times were probably the hardest between them that she had ever seen as of late – at least since she had been re-employed by Dr. Ogden, and the detective, after becoming unemployed when the doctor had married Dr. Garland.

Turning the lock in the door, Eloise reminded herself about how much trouble Detective Murdoch and Dr. Ogden had had before that marriage, albeit with the detective being arrested and almost hung, and then being accused of setting Constance Gardiner free, and then disappearing off the face of the Earth. Eloise had always believed it was because he had been devastated about the doctor's marriage to another. She had sympathy with the man, him coming from a similar class to her own. He must have figured his working class status was a likely factor in the doctor's choice of Dr. Garland over him. However, even back then, Eloise had wondered if that were really true, for the doctor seemed unique among toffs in that respect.

Eloise stood near the coat rack, dropping her packages down, her mind splitting between wanting to check to see if the detective had spent another night on the couch, and remembering how much more torrential things were for this couple after Dr. Garland had been killed, with Dr. Ogden arrested and found guilty – set to hang – for murdering Dr. Garland. All the while, it had been that insane villain, James Gillies, who had set the whole thing up, and then he had captured and tortured the detective. She smiled to herself, with the thoughts of, first the detective, and then the doctor, each declaring their love for each other _during the trial, for all the world to see_ … and then marveled at that remarkable man, Detective Murdoch… for devising a way to escape Gillies and stop the execution of the love of his life… " _Magical, like I said_ ," she praised herself.

Before taking her treasure out of the bag, knowing it would help the detective's spirits, whether he had slept on the couch or not, she gave in to the urge to snoop, peeking around the doorframe into the foyer. " _The couch was completely free of bedding! They had made-up!"_ she celebrated to herself.

) (

Upstairs in their bedroom, the couple slept just a few minutes before the alarm clock would sound. Although her husband was deep asleep, Julia tossed and turned, twitching and occasionally moaning in her sleep, for she was in the midst of a dream.

 **She was standing with Eloise. Suddenly, their front door opened, flooding her in a bright light, and William, in his hobo clothes, looking so desperate for her, stood as its silhouette. The need to be in each other's arms overruled every law of the universe… and then… she just was in his embrace, tight, strong, finally… Her face nestled into his shoulder, his neck, the smell of him permeated her, sank in deeper, not pleasant as it usually was, its pungency forcing her to pull back. She stood before him, seemingly in a haze. Both of their eyes dropped to see his opened palm. A condom… That was a condom, there in his hand.**

 _ **One – Two, CLAP! She slapped him – Poof, he was gone.**_

 **It was the heartwrenching sound, somehow far off while also near, of his sobbing that drew her towards him, after she had fallen to her knees under its burden.**

 **Over there… On the other side of the ocean… On that tiny island… Under that one, dry, thirst-ridden palm tree… she could see him as the mist dissipated away. His naked body curled up on his knees, it trembled and shook so with his weeping. He was so far away… and so… alone.**

 **The pain, unrivaled even by the bullet she had withstood. Then, in the water, urgency fueling each stroke, each second essential, she had to get to him, had to hold him, had to save him from such unbearable despair.**

" **William!" she called out, standing in the surf now, the weight of the ocean lugging against each step, "William!" she called.**

 **He stood, turned to watch as she approached across the sand, his face so handsome, his eyes full of sparkling mischief.** _ **Was he about to tease?**_

" **Doctor," his delicious voice challenged, "Where's my hat?"**

 _ **Was it still the beach? No, it is their bedroom**_ **, and he is getting dressed.** _ **Such an odd mix of clothing**_ **, she noticed. His brown workpants, his red pajama top tucked in neatly, covered by a cummerbund… and a bowtie. But he is barefoot, with his prized homburg on his head, tilted just so. He pinned his badge to his pajama top and then turned to lift a white lab coat, inserting his arm.**

" **William," she interrupted him, drawing his beautiful, chocolate brown eyes. "You can't wear all those different clothes together. You have to choose," she insisted patronizingly.**

 **Instantly she regretted having criticized him, as his eyes seemed to melt, first into hurt, and then into panic, before they thinned into anger. He swallowed back his emotions and defended himself, "I have to wear all of them," he started, and then decided to continue dressing, pulling his lab coat over his shoulders, "they are all me."**

 **She ducked her head, looking up at him, fighting back a judgmental smile, "Yes William, but not all at the same time," she explained, "The clothes don't match. You'll look ridiculous."**

 **She didn't expect it, quite unlike him. But abruptly, he threw the lab coat down to the floor in a huff. His motions brusque, and hurried, William stripped himself naked, flinging various items of clothing this way and that. Once bare, he paused, unsure of what to do, seemingly becoming distraught with embarrassment, and he had to get away – fleeing into the secret passageway in the back corner of the room, closing the hidden door with a slam.**

 **She heard it in William's voice inside her head, "** _ **It seems the clothes still don't fit the boy,**_ **" her memory replayed his despondent words from their argument so long ago. Plaguing, troubling, for originally they had been her words, not meant for him, and yet he had clung to them, wearing their expression of his discomfort with his new station because he had married her. "** _ **The clothes still don't fit the boy**_ **."**

 **She had felt it back then, down in her own bones, such regret for her lack of compassion with his struggle. "** _ **How could she have forgotten,**_ **" she asked herself, "** _ **how could she have forgotten something so important?"**_

 **She ran to the hidden door, knocked her forehead against it with a remorseful** _ **thud**_ **. "William," her voice barely above a whisper, "I'm sorry." And she felt the tears come, with the heat of the swelling and the choking up of her throat. She had to fix this. "Please William. Please come out," she begged.**

 **Almost silently, slowly, the secret passageway door budged. Julia's breath caught, she held it. Only an inch at first, yet reassuring to her. "** _ **He was coming out!**_ **" her heart alerted. She stepped back allowing space for him to walk out, out of the dark passageway into the warm bedroom light. The** _ **metal of his suit of armor**_ **shined so in this glowing light. Clank, clank, with each step he took the metal rattled and creaked.**

 **She tried to calm herself,** _ **take a deep breath**_ **.**

 **William stopped right in front of her, the facemask of his suit of armor closed, and then she noticed it, the features of the man's face shaped into the iron of William's mask.** _ **It was Jonathan Armour!**_ **William's mask was that of her dreadful cousin Jonathan! She could not believe it.** _ **No, not William! Not William!**_ **The panic threatened to collapse her.**

" **William," she called out, her blue eyes searching, looking, for him inside the suit, behind the mask. "William," yet, she was thrown quite off balance, speechless, she found she could say nothing more.**

 **It seemed weeks went by. Every day, every moment, he was shielded within the metal suit of armor. It had led to a devastating sadness which had overtaken her, and she had come to accept it, to bear it. He slept in the armor, went to work in the armor, attaching his magnetized badge directly onto its steel chest, he came home from work in the armor, lifted the Armour mask to kiss her, sometimes brought her flowers in the armor, he ate dinner in the armor, he even held and cared for their beautiful tiny baby in the armor…**

 **But, just now as they prepared for bed, tears had welled in her eyes uninvited, for she had felt it stir within her – the longing for him, the wanting to touch him, the need to hug him, the desire to kiss him, soothe him, make love with him, so deeply, to feel his weight on her and his rhythm, his flesh covering her, penetrating her, pushing into her, over and over again, all to be unfulfilled.**

 **She became overwhelmed with such debilitating sorrow – to know he had never, he would never, share his warmth, his unique, manly tenderness, at once protective and compassionate, with their baby boy, or with her, ever again.**

" **William," she called as she slid closer to him from her side of the bed, and tried to find his ear in the blackened room, her lips only encountering rigid, unforgiving, metal. She brought her hand across his chest, her arm, her breasts only attaining stiff, unyielding metal, the chill of it triggering an irrepressible cringe in response to the cold, hard, feel of his steely body against hers. For the tiniest fraction of a second, the top of her breast moved over a ridge a bump. "Odd," she thought. He doesn't usually wear it to bed.**

 **Suddenly, she** _ **felt**_ **it more than she heard it, the perfect "** _ **click**_ **" of her locket bonding to his badge… The sound intensifying her feelings, surging her fear of losing him, and twirling and entwining it with her knowledge that they were meant to be together, spurred by memories of the first time she had heard that simple, quiet, remarkable "** _ **click**_ **," and she so regretted having had ignored its significance then – leaving him for Buffalo despite its portending. Panic swept through her…** _ **Not again. She couldn't bear losing him. Not again…**_

" **William, please take it off," she pleaded. "Please William. I want to hug you, so badly, William. My God, I miss it…" Her lips kissed the metal hinge that held the Armour mask to the helmet, wishing, pretending she were kissing his cheek, with its morning stubble. She would seek his lips, always stunned by their softness as they bent and molded under hers. "I want to kiss you…" her voice waned into a squeak, the sound of her own deterioration magnifying her panic, sending her heart to race and her breathing to grow shallow as she fought against the fright and the pain, "I long to feel your sweet skin, William… warm and smooth, sliding over mine," Julia said as she moved her body along his metallic armor. "William, I… I yearn to be covered by you, encircled, gloved, by your strength, to have you meld and merge and fuse into me, press down into my flesh, William…" her crying fell into tears. And she pleaded with him, "William, I miss you, please take it off… come be with me. Please…"**

Still sobbing, Julia awoke. In the dark, to her own twitching and whimpering, and became aware that she was in her own bed, just as she had been in the dream, and William was right next to her, under her, as she rested her head on his chest, just as in her dream as well. But… _thank God_ , he was _naked,_ she remembered, peaceful, sound asleep _– not in a suit of armor_. She felt his warmth and his softness as she cuddled closer. And she remembered through the fog of the dream, that he had had such a hard, hard time with this case, and he was beyond exhausted, that he had been dead tired. And he was alright. And they had made up. And she was pregnant, and he would be there, mind, body and soul with her to raise their baby, and everything would be fine. And her sigh of relief calmed her deepest essence. And she loved him more than she would ever be able to tell him… And despite herself, she was happy.

Julia's fingers found the locket hanging around her neck, warm from having been sandwiched between her breasts, treasuring the sleek feel of the golden surface as her fingers glided over it. A smile emerged on her face as her mind flashed William's voice telling her last night that, "the bond is stronger now," after he had mended it. The significance of the locket _clicking_ with his badge in her dream did not escape her, its reminding of the foretelling that their love was meant to be, and the premonition had been right, for they were, she knew it, madly in love with each other still – always – forever and ever.

Her mind drifted and settled on his badge, prompting her to remember that it was a workday – Wednesday. He had only been home from his undercover hobo trek into the wild _jungle_ , as he called it, for two days. So much had happened in those two days… even more in just little over a week. They had solved the case. Today they would bury Ieva next to Adomas. Her sigh slipped into the darkness, mingling with William's deep breathing. She noted that although he was not commonly one to snore, he was close to doing so right now – so very tired from all his ordeals. That's when she decided…

She quietly crawled out of her side of the bed, tiptoed around to his side and turned off his alarm clock. " _William Murdoch will be sleeping in this morning_ ," she silently announced to the world with her hands on her hips. Actually, the timing was perfect. They did not have to leave for the train to Wychwood Park until ten o'clock. Julia placed a hand over her belly and whispered in her head to their baby, " _Daddy needs more sleep, little one."_ Then she slipped her naked body into her robe, relishing in the feel of the silky material as it spilled over her skin.

As she headed downstairs, she was planning in her mind. " _First tell Eloise to delay breakfast. I think I'll call George and invite him to join us, then we can all go to the train together. And the Inspector – at home I guess. He should be up soon..._ " When she reached the landing at the halfway point of the staircase, she halted, her eyes stuck on the spot against the wall where she and William had lusted so deliciously after making up yesterday, after he had come to see the hurt he had caused her with his decision to keep his visiting Ettie a secret from her. It was right after that that she had remembered her strange dreams about needing to tell William about Mulligan's bloody _car-pet_ , prompting her to figure out that she had a way for William to prove Mulligan had killed Ieva after all. It had been so exciting, so wonderful… and yet…

Her mind turned deeper inward, chasing after a feeling, one that was less happy, more problematic, _regret, sadness related to that regret_ , the feelings so similar to, probably remnants from, her dream. She dove after her feelings, working to remember the dream.

The image of William in a suit of armor appeared. " _William as her knight in shining armor_ ," she thought, _"but no, that wasn't it. He had been reacting to something. That's why he had put it on. What was it?"_

" _Ah, there's the regret. I had bothered him… about his clothes. They didn't match…"_ Then, Julia remembered William's words about "the clothes still not fitting the boy." It was with that that she remembered the whole of it, their history. William had had to move up into a different social class because of their marriage. The shift had been difficult for him, and he had used her own words to tell her this months ago – for she was the one to originally say, of young, dead Pip that, "the clothes don't match the boy," arriving at that conclusion because the child was dressed well but had Ricketts, a disease of the poor. She had to admit that, she too, has found the issue uncomfortable. It was for this reason that she most likely avoided telling William about her cousin, and now _his_ cousin, Jonathan Armou…!

 _Oh, and then she remembered a significant part of the dream_ … the facemask on William's suit of armor! William had been wearing Jonathan Armour's image as his mask. And Julia remembered it so clearly then, that she had been afraid that William would have thought _she would want him to be more like that despicable Jonathan_. That had been one of the reasons she had withheld her relationship with her cousin from him. And even though the thought of William believing she would want such a thing disgusted her down to her gut, she had to admit that she had worried it would be so. Her brain, her rational mind, told her William would never do any such thing… but her dream told her that her subconscious, her heart, believed differently. She and William would definitely have to talk about this. _Oh yes, this issue was not yet resolved._

Her mouth twisted up into William's ' _admitting it_ ' face, prompting her to giggle at herself. Endearing actually, the way she had taken on his expressions. She took a deep breath and coached herself, " _I'll have to make sure we don't sweep this under the rug,_ " and she giggled to herself again as she thought, " _or should I say_ _ **car-pet**_ _._ "

Julia noticed there was a bounce in her step as she entered the kitchen…

) (

The early December morning darkness still cloaked the bedroom when Julia returned. She stealthily snuck under the covers and allowed her body to sink down into the comfort and coziness of being in their warm bed with him. He had not moved at all, remaining in the exact same position he had drifted off to sleep in last night. So quickly, she joined him in sleep.

 **Happily, she dressed along with William, readying for the trip to Wychwood Park to bury Ieva Baltavesky next to her husband Adomas. Fitting in so many ways, Adomas and Ieva finally reunited. Even important details had been taken care of, William placing Ieva's locket and both of their wedding rings, and even both of their St. Valentine's keychains with Ieva to be buried with them through all of eternity. Finished with her hair, she looked behind her to see William sharing her vanity mirror, crossing one end under the other of his tie.**

 **Julia stood and turned around. Without saying a word, she took over control of his tie. She felt his eyes on her, growing bigger.**

" **I like to have my way with your tie, William," she said, finishing the knot.**

 **The next thing she knew, her chest was plastered against the wall. He was behind her. He was big and strong, and he wanted her, and he was right behind her. His hot, rapid breath flooded over her exposed neck, its breeze lapping one of her curls about. Every cell in her body changed orientation towards him. She wanted him.** _ **My God**_ **, she wanted him.**

 **His hands, so very softly, took her shoulders, his breath barreled in her ear… Such a tender, soft kiss, against her skin, then another. Wave after wave of desire rolled and thundered into her, through her the force of it would surely collapse her. "William," weak, so very weak, she whispered, the implosion imminent, right before the fall.**

" **Shh," he was in her ear, sinking in deeper, touching her, his heat seeping down to fill and ignite her core, deeper and deeper, exquisitely caressing her down to her very soul. His hand around her waist. "We can't," is all he said… but he did not… stop.**

 _ **Thank God, he did not stop.**_

 _ **His hand felt so big**_ **, wrapped around her belly, protecting and covering their baby nestled within her body, his attentions firm, supportive, attentive, aware – loving.** _ **Oh, but then his other hand**_ **… It traveled up her side, snuck in from behind, under a breast. Took her in his hand, he lifted, and molded and squeezed, and** _ **my God**_ **…** _ **when he moaned**_ **, worshipping the feel of the supple, creamy mass of her succulent flesh in his hand. A gentle, gentle pinch of the nipple, and his breath washed over her powerfully, so powerfully, the wind of it flipping her, floating her. His urge grew hard and big behind her. "I love you, Julia," he whispered, his words catapulting her, and carouseling her through space. Unbearable now, the agony of her want for him. Tears welled in her eyes – with the desperation of it.**

" _ **Please take what you want William. Please… Please…"**_ **her inner voice begged, the words lost twirling around in the windswept squall.**

 **His mouth took her neck, so rough, so hungry. Ravenously he sucked her in.**

 _ **Oh, this would leave a mark. They both knew this would leave a mark. But, it felt so delicious…**_

" **Don't stop, William. Don't stop," she pleaded for his luscious torment to continue.**

 **Her voice lured, but her words reminded, for then he stepped back – stopped – withdrew.**

" **Sorry," he whispered, followed by silence albeit for their hurried breaths and their heartbeats.**

 _ **Of course, he was right…**_ **She turned around to face him, brought her eyes to his lovely, apologetically wrinkled face, grateful for his control, but still dizzy from his love. She slid her hands around his neck, and melted with relief when he wrapped his arms – his big strong arms, around her.**

" **I think it was because you had your way with my tie. Something happens to me when you touch…" he needed to swallow, "my tie."**

" **I see," she said, acting nonchalantly, but she knew that something happened to her too, when she touched his tie.** _ **Strange really, for it was blatantly obvious what his tie represented for each of them, but such truths are better kept away from the conscious, she mused.**_

 **His fingers traced the red, swollen mark he had just made on her neck. "Perhaps, husband…" she teased, "You should finish your mark. I do believe it needs something more… personal. Maybe a "W" would be nice."**

" **Mm," he answered her. Something about his tone though, so confident, cocky…**

 **Then, she saw it in her mind… His mark on her neck… reached up to feel the mark for herself, to read the braille with her fingers… A perfect heart encircling his initials in a deep, almost purple-red hue, branded in her flesh, "WMH." Amazed at her joy, happy to be his, she declared, "Now, detective…" as she pulled at the knot of his tie undoing it, then undid his top buttons, and ripped the shirt collar to the sides, feeling her knees buckle with the sight of the exquisite creamy pink neck.**

" **Fair's fair," she explained and then tilted her head and moved in, anticipating the sweet taste of him, his thick, fibrous flesh yielding to her, his scent sinking into her nostrils, so close.**

Suddenly, she was just awake, awake in their bed, in the golden dawning light, next to him.

She slid over, draped herself upon him, wanting only to be with him in the world. The movement, the touch, roused him.

William's eyes jolted open – he tensed up, "What happened… the alarm! It's late!" he worried.

"Shh…" she reassured him in his ear, "There's no rush. You're not expected at the stationhouse until this afternoon. We still have half hour. It's alright William. Everything's fine."

She felt his heart pounding so, but his body softened, sank back down into the bed, comforted, recovering. "Good," he replied.

"That's better," she whispered. Julia rested her head back on his chest. "I called the Inspector, he agreed it was best to let you sleep in," she added, basking in the slowing rhythm of his heartbeat. Her hands began to explore his body as she whispered, somewhat seductively, "I just had one of those dreams Isaac said can't be helped." Her hand slid lower under the covers riding his bare flesh. On the threshold, her fingers gloried and electrified her insides upon encountering William's scrumptious, wiry hair… lower still…

Gentle but firm was his grasp as he stopped her, his hand taking hers. William's face scolded as she lifted her head to look him in the eye, "Tis best to leave the genie in the bottle milady… for the baby's sake."

He rolled her over, now the couple each lying on their sides, face-to-face. He noticed the locket, his fingers lifting it, cherishing it. All felt right with the world.

"William," she said, "You protected our baby in the same way in my dream – with your amazing self-control."

He lifted an eyebrow and replied, "Mm," with a nod. "And, how is our little angel doing?" he asked, releasing the locket and gliding his fingers up her neck, along her jaw, his thumb glancing her chin. He leaned in and kissed her tenderly, delicately shaping and sculpting her lips this way and that under his. Then his mouth kissed up her cheek on route to her ear.

He could feel her smile against his face as she responded, "Well, the baby is fine… but quite active lately."

"I see," his voice in her ear, his breath spilling down her neck. She felt the lustful stirrings begin to twist within and she reminded herself to fight against them.

William, too, changed to a less flirtatious tone. "May I have the mother's permission, to say good morning to my son, or perhaps my daughter?" he asked.

"Of course. I'd be delighted," Julia answered, rolling over further, onto her back. She took his hand, guided him down.

She was very, very large with child, and William found himself momentarily astounded with the biology of it all. He moved lower and placed his mouth close to her skin. His mind flung off in multiple directions, envisioning the tiny baby inside of her. The inventor in him again wondered about using soundwaves to _see_ the baby, but the father in him dominated, overpowering his mind, his very being, and the inventor's thought went no further.

Inside of this woman, this amazing, beautiful, remarkable woman, was the _one thing_ he had accepted, all those years ago, as the fortune teller's premonitioned " _ **great sacrifice.**_ " The _great sacrifice_ that he would have to make for this earthshattering love he had with Julia – to father no children. He had made that sacrifice, and yet, that very loss had not come to be. _He_ would be a father, _she_ his child's mother. William found himself surprised with his own overwhelming emotions, for he felt the heat, the swelling, of tears in his eyes.

"Good morning my little man, or perhaps my little lady," he greeted their unborn child. "Your mother tells me…" he caressed the tiny baby inside, "my beautiful William Jr. or Sus…"

" _Thump_ ," a rambunctious kick bumped against his hand. He marveled that he could actually see Julia's flesh extend outward with the tiny blow. William gasped and looked to Julia, surprised.

Julia's smile could light up the world. She reminded, "I told you," and then gave a sweet giggle.

William turned his attention back to their progeny. "Now William Jr." he scolded, "Susana, you must be more careful…"

" _Bonk_ ," once again the baby walloped its mother's outer boundaries, causing its father to again raise a judgmental, shocked eyebrow.

Julia found the whole thing to be absolutely hilarious and fell into hearty laughter.

William teased, "Julia Ogden, are you enjoying our child talking back to its father?"

"Immensely," she replied through her chuckling.

Feigning concern, William lectured, "Julia, we'll need a more united front."

She cleared her throat and pulled herself together. "And we will have it," she promised, trying to hold back her smile. She looked at her belly and said, "Now little one, you should listen to your father. He is wise… and truly… so lovely." Julia felt her heart burning madly, passionately, wildly on fire with love for this man. Blessed beyond any possibilities – they were.

William took a breath and decided to try again. He slipped his hand lower, cradling the baby inside of her from below, leaning closer again he said, "It must be getting rather crowded in there. Is that wha…"

" _Thwack_ ," the biggest kick of all exploded out of her! Now, even William burst into laughter. His gorgeous brown eyes jumped to meet Julia's intense blue ones. "I think he might have gotten your stubbornness," he chuckled.

"Perhaps," Julia joined the giggling. Her brain challenged that William could be quite stubborn himself, but she decided to let it go, at least for now. There was a better explanation.

"I think the baby is hungry, William. It's quite late for breakfast today," she offered.

"Oh. That's true," he agreed.

Knowing that it was time to get up, William plopped back down on the mattress, delaying the inevitable.

Julia draped herself over him once more. "Did you enjoy the extra sleep?" she asked as she kissed and stroked his cheeks, loving his early morning stubble.

"Oh yes. It was lovely," he replied.

She rolled up on top of him, straddling him, her chest lying on his, their nakedness pressed together, their baby between them. Fluttering butterfly kisses showered over him until her mouth hovered over his ear and she whispered, "I love you William Henry Murdoch."

"And I you," he whispered back. And then he said, "Now, Mrs. Murdoch, do you not think we should rise before our ravenous offspring belts you yet again?"

"Sounds wise," she answered. She sat up, only to realize that dismounting from him would be more difficult than she had thought, trying raising her one knee, but ending up dangling dangerously close the edge of the bed. Disappointed, with a huff, she dropped back down onto his chest.

William smiled, "I do believe the turtle is stuck again," he teased.

With the tiniest pout, igniting his heart into flames, she acquiesced, "Perhaps."

He sat them up, then rotated to bring his feet to the floor, with her straddling his lap, safely in his arms. Truly, he knew this would take some effort, but his male pride was on the line and he would give it what it took. William whispered, "Hold on tight," basking in the tremendously heartwarming feeling as she hugged him closer. He stood them up, and held her as she brought her legs down until she rested her feet on the floor.

Before Julia let him go she told him, "You're my knight in shining armor, William." Then, as they stepped apart, each one making the shift from intimacy to beginning their day, she said, "I had a dream about that… I mean you actually were… dressed in a suit of armor."

"Oh," he wondered. "And were you my damsel?" he asked, wrinkling his face in doubt and then adding, "That doesn't sound much like you." As he stepped into the bathroom he thought aloud, "Do you think it was because of Graveson last night…"

"Could be," she interrupted, "But there was definitely more to it than your protecting me from the, admittedly terrifying, man. Actually, I believe we will need to talk about it…" she said.

William's gut reacted, he recognized her tone, its forewarning. This involved one of their _issues_.

She began the daily ritual, lifting the toothbrush, adding some of the toothpaste. "I think the suit of armor represents many things… a mixture of protecting yourself," she raised an interrogating eyebrow at herself, "us," she added. She went on, "By wearing the suit of armor, you were keeping us safe, maybe hiding yourself too, I think, from the dangers and horrors in the jungle…" Julia waved her toothbrush about and added, "But there were also elements of the dream that pointed to my, um," she exhaled, "to my lingering concerns about our struggle with…" Julia paused.

William braced himself.

She continued her thought, "Class issues – and your not..."

William was on full alert…

"Fitting in, um, into my class… The armor you were wearing in the dream, It… the facemask, it had Jonathan Armour's face molded into the mask," she explained. "And I had criticized you for wearing… your clothes in the dream, they didn't match…"

Abruptly, the doorbell rang, drawing their attention downstairs. Both naked, they knew Eloise would be the one to answer it. Julia explained, "That will be George. I invited him to join us for breakfast before we go to the train."

"Good," he answered with a smile. William returned to preparing to shave. It seemed the time for this discussion was not now.

"Your dreams are quite interesting Julia," he contemplated, "They seem to use…" he tilted his head, searching for the right word, "Well, puns, I guess. So much double meaning. _Carpet_ … and now _Armour_ …" he looked her in the eye. "Quite clever," he admired.

"The subconscious works in ways that we can't completely understand William. It is quite astounding really," the psychologist in her noted.

) (

The couple rounded the corner in the kitchen together, arm in arm. George had been sharing with Eloise about his good news, that his suspension had been ended now that Mulligan had confessed.

Julia's voice cheery, she exclaimed, "That's why you're in uniform, George. You start back today?"

"Yes," George answered, "Right after we return from Ieva Baltavesky's burial."

William helped Julia into her chair. He hesitated, his eyes down on the vase of yellow roses on the kitchen table – the same roses he had bought for Julia just yesterday. _It was amazing that that was less than 24 hours ago._

Julia spotted his attention on the flowers. She reached out, took his hand. Her fingers slid over his wedding ring as his beautiful chocolate eyes met hers. The world seemed to pause, just for a breathless moment, as they shared an acknowledgement of their love for each other and an appreciation of all they had been through together, recently overcoming obstacles and finding profound trust in each other's care once again.

Mounds of food abound, and George provided most of the talk. "It is a bit of a shame, though, to have to go back to work," he explained, "I was getting along rather well on my new novel."

Julia raised her cup of tea to her lips and asked before sipping, "Likely inspired by your recent adventures I presume… in the jungle?"

"Oh yes, quite, doctor," George answered.

Julia noticed out of the corner of her eye, that William tensed up with this new topic. " _He is definitely still suffering from the aftereffects of his ordeals,_ " she acknowledged to herself, feeling her heart warm and worry for him.

George had moved on, "Well, like this ham here…" George brought his fork over to a serving plate in the center of the table and lifted a thick, pink, slice of juicy ham up into the air. "You will notice that the detective has taken a serving, or more, of everything else _but the ham_ ," he observed aloud.

 _Considering it for a moment, Julia agreed that it was odd. William had always liked ham…_

William exhaled through pursed lips, unbeknownst to himself, indicating to all present that he was feeling pressured. "George," he asserted, "Let's not talk about the food, please."

The room grew tense, uneasy.

It was Eloise who broke through the uncomfortable silence. "Oh," she called from the back pantry, "Detective, I noticed the garbage cans were not out. Do you think you could take them out to the street before the wagon gets here to collect…"

Grateful for the reprieve, William was already standing. "Yes, right away. It was a busy night last night," he defended his oversight.

George asked, bulging his eyes out of his head halfway through the question, realizing he may have been jumping from the pot into the fire, "Does it have anything to do with the broken living room window?" After which George gave Julia a pleading look.

William had already gathered up the garbage to take outside. He answered, "Yes. There was an intruder…" Deciding it was safe to tell George, reminding himself to make it clear that there were National Security issues involved, William added, "Graveson had another try."

 _Julia noticed George's frightened look._

"Oh my!" George declared, "Obviously, he was unsuccessful once again, sir, thank God."

William looked at Julia, seeing from her expression that George's reaction had only solidified her certainty that they had done the right thing to call Jonathan Armour and get him to call Graveson off of his persistent attempts to assassinate her husband, and his own cousin.

"You know Graveson as well, George?" Julia asked.

Giving up control over the situation, William left with the garbage.

"Yes doctor," George replied, looking up to notice that Eloise was nonchalantly listening in from next to the sink.

Julia, too, looked at Eloise, and then back to George. "Go on, George," she said, calmly turning back to take a piece of ham, quieting his concern about the woman overhearing. She served herself some ham to help herself remember to ask him about the ham before William got back.

"Actually, Graveson tried to kill me first, using that fake handshake method. The detective tells me you are the one who figured that out. Indirectly doctor, you saved my life," George explained.

Julia smiled and bowed, "Glad I could be of service," she said, her smile warm and genuine. She cleared her throat and leaned closer. "George," she asked, "What were you going to say about the ham?"

Feeling his loyalties pulled, George hesitated. Almost whispering, unsure if her secrecy was about Eloise or the detective, he said, "Well, doctor, twice the detective came close to being killed and having his body disposed of by being… um, processed, err, with the ham."

 _Julia's brain raced. She knew it rang true. She remembered that he had been almost killed at Davies Slaughterhouse, hanging, bound and tied, from a meat hook on his way to being cut apart by a huge rotary saw…_

Her words came out before she had thought it through. "Twice?" she asked.

By then, George had remembered that she already knew about the first time. And he had started to realize that it was possible that the detective had not told her about Jonathan Armour's attempt on the detective's life… or maybe the detective had not told her that he himself had knocked Armour unconscious, the detective thinking he might have accidently killed the toff and would likely hang for the crime.

Stalling, George said, "Well, you know about the time at Davies Slaughterhouse…"

Julia nodded and glanced at the kitchen door William would return through. Wanting George to hurry, "There was another?" she pushed.

George scratched his cheek as he tried to tackle with his conflicted feelings, "Um… well,"

"George! Before he gets back!" Julia barked her whisper at him.

"Yes, but it was just a verbal threat the second time…" George started to explain, but then rambled on as he tended to do as his mind took him down a tangent, "Maybe it would have been more of a threat if the detective hadn't knocked Jonathan Armour out with a bronze pig statue of all things…"

"Jonathan Armour?" Julia interrupted. Her heart pounded so with her detestable cousin's name, and William's name, and _killed_ , and _processed with the ham_ all being used in the same instance! And! – And William knocked him unconscious! _Oh my God! This was crazy_! She felt lightheaded.

"Yes doctor. The very wealthy and powerful Jonathan Armour – the detective worried for days that he would be arrested and dragged back to the States and eventually hung for the unfortunate murder. It was self-defense, but um… The detective was looking for evidence and Armour walked in on him, and they had a confrontation. Armour had a gun…"

 _Julia's mind barreled forward and backward at the same time, figuring out that when the things George was describing were happening, William probably was unaware that Jonathan Armour was her cousin, his cousin because of their marriage… he had said his not knowing had been problematic, had caused him some turmoil, perhaps this is what he had been referring to._

"And it was Armour who made the threat – about William becoming part of the ham?" she asked, speaking very quickly.

"The Christmas ham to be exact," George replied. "You know, all told, the detective faced his maker an astounding number of times while on this case," George pondered. Suddenly, his eyes bugged out! "Doctor!" he declared, "I shouldn't… He's your husb… Of course, I, um…"

Working to deflect George's worry, and truth be told to try to get him to divulge more, Julia replied, "it appears that you faced death, too, George… I uh, heard." _It worked_ , she noticed, George had calmed down and began to try to remember his own moments of being in grave danger.

Julia helped him, reminding, "I know that a corrupt and rather nasty American policeman, called Flannel Bull, knocked you unconscious… Well, his men did I guess, and then threatened to shoot you in the head if William didn't…" Julia stopped short, she would be overstepping her bounds if she said any more. This was William's story to be told, a quite personal and devastating one at that. It was not her place to share it with anyone. She regretted saying as much as she already had.

George had always been unsure about what had happened to the detective after he had been knocked unconscious that night in the jungle. Her statement, even uncompleted, led him to believe some of his worst fears had been true.

"He told you… a - about Flannel Bull?" George asked, unable to hide his surprise, and his embarrassment, and his concern for his friend and mentor. _These two had an amazing relationship, he marveled, the thought making him feel joyous, for he loved them both so much and it was obvious that they were perfect together, and it warmed his heart to know someone as capable and loving as the doctor was entwined in Detective Murdoch's life._

Julia nodded. "He did," she said.

William's footsteps could be heard at the kitchen door.

Julia refused to pretend they had not been speaking of such things. "It does sound like so many awful, awful things happened on this undercover excursion," she concluded, as William closed the door and walked into the kitchen. She addressed him directly, "George told me about the Christmas hams, William. I asked him," she explained, hoping to be transparent.

Eloise bravely added, revealing that she too had been listening to George's tales, and to their conversation, "Would it be best if I no longer serve it… ham I mean?"

All eyes turned to William. He took a deep breath. There was more to it than just that he had almost ended up that way – slaughtered, butchered, to be someone's dinner. So much more so than he thought anyone would ever be able to understand, it was because of what he, himself, had done to those defenseless pigs. He swallowed, the aversion to the memories extreme enough to turn his stomach.

His eyes, wide, worried, found Julia's. She felt an enormous pull – like she had felt that first moment he had returned from being out in the jungle and he stood in their doorway… And like she had felt when she held him yesterday and he sobbed torrentially, and they cried together, right there, at the corner of this very same table. He was so unsteady. He needed her so much. William's gravity, the power of his need for her tugged and wrenched at her heart. Unbearable, not responding, she stood, walked over to him. Hugged him. She whispered in his ear, "Tell us," for she knew he was shouldering an insufferable burden.

Julia stepped back to give him some room, and William told them, although George already knew, about his wrapping a chain around each pig's hindfoot, and watching, listening, as the pig was suddenly hoisted into the air, the bone-breaking pain and terror surging the crazed animal into screaming and squealing such that it curdled and crawled the skin. Of course, it didn't help matters that a similar fate had almost transpired to him, but truly, the guilt of committing such a thing, such a sin, and doing it over and over again, to helpless animals that had done nothing but trust their handlers, trust him… it racked his soul. The profound extent of the suffering that had been besetting him and agonizing him so deeply had been exposed, made clear, even to George, who had not grasped the severity of his mentor's affliction until now.

George took a deep breath, drawing everyone's attention. He offered a ray of hope, the glimmer of which had originally been ignited by William himself. "Sir," he reminded, "You have done more to help the suffering of these poor animals than anyone else could – with your electrified zapper gun device that you invented. Two of the most important men in the entire world's meat industry now have a more humane and efficient way to kill the animals, thanks to you, sir. Thanks to you. If you had not had to do those things, then you would not have ever thought to give these meat mongers the idea for the blessed gadget. It was for the greater good sir," he explained.

William sighed. "Perhaps you're right George. I hope so, I guess," he said, still somewhat reluctantly.

"George _**is**_ right, William," Julia concluded, working to comfort him, giving him an encouraging kiss on the cheek. Changing the subject, she hastened, "Now gentlemen, we'd best hurry, or Father Clemens will be waiting for us as the train pulls out of the station!"

William leaned over his half-full plate of breakfast and worked to gobble down a few more bites and swallow some of his tea. Julia and George headed for the foyer together.

No one told Eloise that day, but she decided, _no more ham for the Murdoch's_ , certainly not for quite some time anyway.

"And your protagonist, George, is he still the swashbuckling anthropologist, but now studying the life of the downtrodden hobo?" Julia asked, releasing George's elbow to take up her coat.

George whispered, "Doctor, I know you know, it is the detective who inspires my heroes. But now, I have this mixture of the adventurous anthropologist and my character from my picture books – Jumping Jack."

Julia's eyes grew big with excitement, "Oh, I quite like him. I always saw William in the character, so many gadgets… and so brave…"

"Who's this?" William asked, joining them in the foyer.

Julia eyed George, then turned to her husband. "George was telling me about the hero in his new book."

"Oh?" the detective said.

A sly smile slipped onto Julia's face, unable to mask her glee. "He is rugged, but introverted, a bit buttoned-up I guess you could say, and very smart, based on all his inventions…"

Suddenly, William's face lit up, his huge smile beaming across the room. Everyone turned to see what had caught his eye!

The trusty homburg rested on its peg!

William grabbed Julia into a hug.

Laughing, she told him, "Thank Eloise. She must have picked it up on way home last night and brought it this morning."

"Eloise!" the detective called, taking the treasured hat in hand and rushing back to the kitchen…

Julia turned to George and said, "He does so love his hat. As a matter of fact, he even mentioned to me that he noticed that your star, Jumping Jack, had gotten a similar hat in the latest book. I think he knows, George."

William returned, put his hat on his head just so, adjusting it in the mirror, then quickly added his coat and scarf.

As they headed out, Julia asked, devilishly, "George, does the hero still have the same Achilles heel… his fear of butterfl…"

George interrupted, replying, "Interesting you should ask that doctor. The villain mistakenly thinks our hero remains terrified of butterflies, using them to keep our champion ensnared in his trap, but, what the fiend doesn't know is that the hero has a found a beautiful, smart, brave woman… who cares for the hero, loves him so mysteriously, so boundlessly, that he has changed… this outstanding woman has helped our hero heal an old wound, that, err, well, at least that's how I think she did it, and it's thanks to her healing him that he unexpectedly manages to escape the villain's trap, because thanks to the power of their unfathomable love, he now better knows himself, has found compassion for himself, and thus he is able to pass through the dense mass of fluttering, flapping butterflies blocking his escape…"

William cleared his throat and said, "I dare say George, you certainly got that part right," taking Julia's arm in his and pulling her close, "She would have to be a remarkable woman indeed, to help a man overcome a fear as potent as that of butterflies."

For the life of her, Julia couldn't see his smirk, but she heard it in his voice. It prompted her to giggle. "Indeed," she agreed.

))) (((

 _The first time that Julia discovered that William had paid for a poor victim's burial was when she had known him barely a year. She remembered it fondly, as they had stood listening to Father Clemens today eulogize both Ieva… and Adomas. That old case had been interesting in and of itself, involving prominent members of the theater. With a smile as she stood there in the pauper's graveyard in Wychwood Park, she saw in her mind the photograph of her that William had kept stowed away in his hobo-coat pocket, the one she had found right before she discovered his pockets also held a condom, the same photo he had borrowed so many, many years ago, to unknowingly obtain fingerprints from the suspects in the case._

 _Today, he also paid for a burial, this one for Ieva. She would be buried in the tiny spot between her husband's grave and that of some other pauper. The spot had been so narrow that the gravediggers had made the grave precariously close to that of Adomas, and they had lowered Ieva's coffin into the ground on its side rather than upright as usual. Gasps had flooded the air when the men had removed the straps from her coffin and the box had settled six feet below with a '_ _ **thump,**_ _' bumping against the coffin of Ieva's husband, the love of her life, through the thin, mud wall. They truly were_ _ **together**_ _, finally, Adam and Eve, as they were meant to be. The psychiatrist in her knew it was perfect closure, the woman in her fell even more deeply in love with William._

))) (((

A week or two after their return from the jungle, George stayed late into the early morning hours wanting to capture his thoughts about being in the jungle before the busy details of daily life dulled them and buried them out of reach. He considered again, making the story take place in the winter, as his own and Detective Murdoch's actual experiences had been from that time of year, but he decided that it was essential the tale occur in the summer so that his hero could overcome his encounter with the multitude of butterflies his plot required. " _A shame though,_ " he thought, " _Jack won't be able to jump off the rooftop of the moving train into a huge snowbank… or make a snowcow to stop the train_ …"

Out of the blue, George remembered that he had received a letter from Sin that morning, having had put it aside until he was alone. Excitement pumped through him. The man had been an inspiration, living his research as he had. Perhaps he had word of his own book? Sin had told them he would probably title it, "The Jungle." Apt, George had thought.

 _Hello George,_

 _I must say, I much prefer Crabtree to Flowers. Was it your intention to stick with plants in your choice of undercover name? I find myself puzzled by your choice._

 _I'm writing to share my marvelings with you of the true-life adventures of our fellow hobo, the man I'm sure you based your swashbuckling introverted protagonist on, our Henry Codrum, aka Detective William Henry Murdoch. Is not his_ _ **strawbale**_ _, the breathtakingly beautiful woman whose photo soothed his soul while in the jungle, the woman he told us of, the woman who had shared a profound and uncommon love with our hero, the woman who left him because she was barren and knew he wanted children, and then married another breaking his heart… and her own as well, only to birth a child to this other man – the very irony of his tale sufficing to break my own heart as well – is not this woman Dr. Julia Ogden?_

 _My spirits soared so high upon reading your_ _Toronto Gazette_ _, for I learned the truth of it. And the truth of it is more unbelievable than the lie, and more magnificent. My curiosity so piqued I had to read back years and years and years to understand the magic of it all, but now I know, as I am sure do you too, this wondrous tale._

 _So, it looks like the boy got the girl after all! Amazing, this "other man" was really the toff Dr. Darcy Garland, was he not? And_ _ **she**_ _was accused of committing his murder. And our hero saved her from the noose… after escaping from a trap constructed by his nemesis, and proving that the actual murderer was this same deranged villain, James Gillies, an ingenious fiend who had set out to frame the woman our hero loved in order to make him choose whether to save his own life or that of the woman he loved. Such a mild-mannered, private man as our hero, protesting his love for another man's wife in a court of law for all the world to know. And that same woman declaring her undying love for him in that same venue. And now, the woman who left him all those years ago because she could not give him a child has given birth to_ _ **our hero's**_ _son._

 _And I stop you here for a moment, to tell you that this is an impossible tale to believe, before I go on to add that it is our hero who ends up performing the surgical procedure required to bring the child into the world – and in so doing, saves his child's life and that of this remarkable woman he loves with all his heart and soul. No one would ever believe such a story, alas, a challenge for you it seems if you intend to write it. But I wanted to tell you George, I wanted you to know, that I am aware of its truth. And it made me happy, in the end._

 _Warm regards,_

 _Sin_

George folded up the letter and tucked it back into its envelope. He would take up the valuable correspondence tomorrow. But now he felt the desire to write. The author's pen began to move and he scripted the thoughts as they came…

 _Jack drifted with his thoughts, finally home, out of the jungle, floating in his warm bath. Although he and his loved ones were safe, conflicts seeped and gurgled within him, afraid he would not be able to forget the horrors of the jungle, perhaps more frightened that he would not remember them. For he knew now, the jungle exists. It is everywhere. And as the lianas and vines and trees in the jungle tangle and grow together, with them, between them, inside of them, the endless crawling and striving of insects, and fungi, and animals, and man… so too does bad intertwine with good, greed with generosity, abundance with scarcity, beauty with ugliness, courage with cowardliness, passion with indifference. Truth is at once empty and full with the seeing of it – the mixing of kindness and cruelty in the world. To not see it would mean living a life incomplete, but to see it_ _ **and flourish**_ _, well, now he had found the key – it was to love. For through loving we heal, and we find those who nurture us, and we find those whom we can nurture, and with that we find the meaning of life, so simple really, to care… And in caring you find the biggest gift of all. Action, choice, response… Respond, as often as you can, with right to wrong, touch ugliness with beauty, give generosity to greed, and your heart will grow._

 _The warm steam filled Jack's tired lungs, its fogginess clouding his vision and he rocked and swayed there in the bathwater, and oh, how he hoped he would remember this simple and yet profound insight, something he could have only learned from having been… in the jungle._

 **(Note: Please Review, I so want to know – What did you think?)**


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